The Angel Of Music
by gryffingirl77
Summary: A retelling of ALW stage musical, with some SK and movie influence. Told in Christine and Erik's POV, with the ending that I wish had happened in the musical. Please read & review! EC My first fanfic!
1. The Angel of Music

_**A/N:** Welcome to my story, _The Angel of Music._ It__ is a re-telling of the Andrew Lloyd Webber version, with some Susan Kay and 2004 movie inspirations. It has the ending I wish would have happened in the musical! _

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, and to those of you who have never read it, thanks for stopping by and of course, I welcome your reviews!!_

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_ or any of the characters._

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Rehearsals were already underway. I could hear the music and singing as I rushed from my dressing room and up to the stage. I came up to stage left and paused for a moment to catch my breath and watched the proceedings. It seemed to be going well. At least, Monsieur Reyer was not yelling at the moment, which was a good sign. I hurried onto the stage, entering my place with the chorus. Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, gave me a stern look and I gave her a tiny, apologetic smile. Several of the other chorus girls threw me nasty looks, which I ignored. Only Meg Giry, my one friend in the chorus, gave me a smile and a questioning look. I shook my head slightly, trying to convey that I would talk to her later.

I turned my focus back on the rehearsal. It went well, at least until Monsieur Lefevre, the Opera House manager came onto the stage with two unfamiliar men in tow. They were looking around delightedly while Monsieur Lefevre spoke rapidly, gesturing to accentuate whatever it was he was saying. The chorus girls got progressively more distracted as the two men wove around the stage, getting in the way.

"Messieurs, please," Madame Giry hissed, glaring at the men. "We are trying to rehearse." Madame Giry was an imposing figure. Tall and thin, she wore her black hair in a severe bun and she wore only black. Her glare was usually enough to frighten anyone into doing what they were supposed to and her voice, with its strong French accent, was commanding. But the men paid her no mind and continued to stroll about the stage.

The song ended with applause from Lefevre and the two men. Lefevre cleared his throat loudly to get everyone's attention. Everyone ignored him and he looked pleadingly at Madame Giry. She rapped her walking stick on the stage and the sound echoed throughout the room. Immediately everyone stopped talking and gathered around Lefevre. I could see my curiosity mirrored on everyone else's faces.

"Your attention, ladies and gentlemen," Lefevre said, beaming. "I would like to introduce to you Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin. These gentlemen have officially agreed to take over management of the Opera!"

Andre and Firmin nodded, smiling benevolently. There were some murmurs among the performers, but the rumor mill had been saying for some time that Lefevre was trying to find someone to take over, so it was not much of a surprise.

Lefevre clapped his hands together and proceeded to drag Andre and Firmin around to introduce them to Monsieur Reyer, Madame Giry and, of course, La Carlotta and Signor Piangi. The rest of the cast was ignored while everyone fawned over Carlotta, the star and _Prima Donna_ of the Paris Opera House.

Carlotta pranced around the stage as if she owned it, much like a peacock strutting around, preening its plumage. And, like a peacock, Carlotta's voice rang out over the din.

"Oh, it is a pleasure to meet you, sirs," she purred loudly with a smile that had always reminded me of a self satisfied cat.

Andre and Firmin bustled around, making a big fuss, as Carlotta was expecting. It did not take them long to talk her into an improv performance of _Think of Me, _from the production of_ Hannibal_ that we were rehearsing.

She strutted to the middle of the stage, gave a condescending nod of her head to Monsieur Reyer, who was sitting at the piano. He began to play, and Carlotta's voice swelled, filling the room.

Meg, who had come to stand next to me, rolled her eyes dramatically and I stifled a giggle.

Right in the middle of her aria there was a tremendous crash and a backdrop came crashing down out of nowhere directly behind Carlotta who whirled around. The chorus girls that were closest to it began screaming and rushing around frantically.

"The Phantom!" they shrieked. "He is here!"

My eyes widened, while Meg clutched my arm, staring at the backdrop as if it would reach out and grab her.

There was pandemonium as people rushed about, while Carlotta stood in the middle of the stage, fuming. Her face had turned a spectacular shade of red, and Andre and Firmin were looking around, clearly confused.

Madame Giry rapped her walking stick onto the stage several times while Monsieur Reyer clapped his hands and shouted at everyone to calm down.

Monsieur Lefevre's face turned red and he shouted up into the catwalk above the stage. "Buquet! What is the meaning of this?"

Just then Josef Buquet, one of the stagehands, staggered onto the stage from stage left. "I swear, Monsieur, I was not at my post!" he said. He gestured towards the catwalk. "There is no one there! It must have been the Ghost!"

There was another round of shrieks from the chorus girls, and Madame Giry rapped her walking stick on the floor again to quiet them.

When it was finally silent all eyes turned to Monsieur Lefevre, who was now edging towards stage right, and the exit. "Well, my good sirs," he said quickly to Andre and Firmin. "I must catch my train. Best of luck to you!" And with that he bolted out the door, leaving Andre and Firmin standing amid the panicked performers They looked bewildered.

"Heh, heh," Firmin said, stepping forward. He tugged on the neck of his dress shirt and looked around. "These things do happen," he said with a strained smile.

"These tings do happen?" Carlotta repeated, her voice deceivingly quiet. "You have been here what, five minutes? What do you know of these _tings?_ Si, these tings _do_ happen. But unless you STOP these tings from happening, I will assure you that THIS ting," she said, gesturing towards her bosom, which caused Andre and Firmin to look slightly alarmed, while her voice grew louder with each word. "WILL NOT HAPPEN!" she finished in a screech.

With that she dramatically tossed her scarf to the ground and stalked away, waving her hand at Monsieur Piangi and Mademoiselle Perre, her hairdresser, to follow, which they did. Signor Piangi, as he walked past Firmin and Andre gave a little "Hmmph!" and said, "Amateurs!" which caused Meg to bury her face in my shoulder, giggling.

"Oh dear," Andre said weakly, looking at Firmin, who was rubbing his forehead and looking tired. "Well, she will be back…" he said, but his voice was more of a question than a statement.

"You think so, messieurs?" Madame Giry cryptically, raising an eyebrow. "I have a message for you, sirs, from the Opera Ghost." She held out an envelope.

The chorus girls screeched again. Firmin looked around at them, astounded. "Good God, you are all obsessed!"

"What do you mean, you have a message?" Andre asked suspiciously. He looked at the envelope in distaste.

"He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is now due," Madame Giry said.

"Salary? What do you mean his salary?" Firmin demanded.

"Monsieur Lefevre paid him twenty thousand francs a month. Perhaps you can afford more," said Giry.

"Good heavens, as if we do not have enough to worry about without an Opera Ghost on top of it all!" Andre said with a sigh.

"Forget the Opera Ghost," Firmin said. "We open tonight and we are without our lead Soprano! Who is her understudy?" he demanded of Monsieur Reyer.

"There is no understudy," Reyer said calmly. "La Carlotta would not hear of it."

Andre and Firmin turned slightly green and stared at each other, looking more than a little panicked. "A full house," Firmin groaned. "We will have to refund a full house!"

I watched them, detached. I was a mere chorus girl; I had nothing to do with their little drama.

Suddenly Meg rushed from my side to stand in front of Andre and Firmin. "Christine Daae can sing it, sirs!" she said boldly. "She is in the chorus."

I blanched and stared at Meg, horrified. The rest of the chorus girls turned to stare at me, giggling and nudging each other. "Christine?" I heard one of them whisper. "She would not even know when to show up, she is so dim!"

"Christine Daae?" Andre repeated.

"A chorus girl?" Firmin said incredulously.

Madame Giry stepped forward and addressed the new managers. "Let her sing for you, Messieurs, she has been well taught."

"Well then, let us hear it," Firmin said with a sigh.

Meg came to me and tugged me into the middle of the stage, amid the whispers and giggles of the rest of the chorus.

"Meg! What are you doing?" I whispered, panicked.

"You will do fine," Meg said with an encouraging smile. She reached down and picked up Carlotta's scarf and handed it to me before she stepped back.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I felt the prickle of tears in my eyes as I heard another chorus girl say snidely, "This should be entertaining at least!"

I wound the silk scarf around my hands nervously. Monsieur Reyer sat back at the piano. "From the beginning," he said, and began playing.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we said goodbye_," I sang, my voice coming out in a choked whisper.

I heard one of the managers groan, "This is doing nothing to encourage me, Andre," Firmin said.

I stood, frozen. I had never felt so humiliated. I plunged ahead with the song, my voice wavering. Suddenly a voice in the back of my mind said, _what are you doing? You know you can sing better than this! You are disgracing the Angel. Shape up!_

That was all it took to snap me out of my stage fright. I remembered the Angel telling me, just earlier today before rehearsal that I was magnificent, that I was his protégé.

I stood up straight and my voice swelled out with confidence, the change so sudden and so complete that I heard gasps from behind me. I released my stranglehold on the scarf and tossed it confidently over my shoulders. I let myself feel the words, tried to convey the longing in the lyrics in my voice.

When I finished the song all was silent. There was not a word spoken and immediately my self confidence wavered and came crashing down. Had I been so terrible? Tears stung my eyes and I almost bolted off the stage; the only thing that stopped me was Madame Giry, who had come to stand by me.

Suddenly the stage erupted in applause and cheers. Flustered, I looked around and saw that even the chorus girls were applauding, albeit reluctantly.

"Well done, Christine," Madame Giry said warmly. That, being the highest praise of all, save for the Angels', warmed me and gave me enough confidence to face Andre and Firmin, who looked completely shocked.

"That was superb!" Andre said, beaming. Firmin still looked too astounded to speak.

"Indeed," Firmin finally choked out. "You will sing the part, Mademoiselle Daae."

"Thank you, oh thank you!" I gasped, clasping my hands together, I felt myself flush in embarrassment.

The managers turned from me to speak to Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry. "Will she be able to sing it tonight, for the opening?"

"Christine?" Madame Giry said, motioning me forward. I stepped up. "Will you be able to do it tonight?"

I nodded, "Certainly. I have seen the part rehearsed a hundred times or more."

Madame Giry turned back to the managers. "She will be fine," she said firmly.

Monsieur Reyer nodded his agreement. "We will rehearse all the way until seven o'clock if we must."

Andre and Firmin looked slightly mollified. Andre wiped a hand across his forehead. "We will let you get to your rehearsals then. We shall be in the office if you need us." And with that they bustled off, no doubt wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

Reyer and Madame Giry went to work, arranging the chorus to make up for the missing part, and going over and over my part. _The lead!_

By the time five o'clock came, my stomach was tied in knots I was so nervous. We had rehearsed what seemed like a million times. By the time we were sent back to our dressing rooms I was exhausted, and we had not even performed yet!

Madame Giry stopped by with a tray with tea and toast. "You should eat a little something so you do not get sick," she said, placing an encouraging hand on my shoulder.

Once she was gone I sank back in my chair. My mind was whirling. I was to sing the lead of _Hannibal_! I was at once amazed and terrified. I had spent my life buried in various choruses, I had never had to stand alone, and the thought terrified me and thrilled me at once.

As I nibbled on a piece of buttered toast, my mind wandered and I thought of my father. He had always fixed me buttered toast and tea before a performance. I sighed, thinking about him, wishing he could be here to see me in the lead of _Hannibal_ at the Paris Opera House. I know he would have been so proud.

He had been dead five years and still his death pained me.

My mother had died giving birth to me, and my father had raised me alone. We had always been the best of friends. He had been my confidante and the one person who believed in me, even when that belief was unwarranted.

I am not too proud to admit that, though my father thought I was wonderful, that my talent had always been meager, at best. Until his death, I had lacked the fortitude to really put my heart and soul in my performances. I had been a middling student in ballet and not much better at my voice lessons.

But always my father was there, encouraging me, supporting me. It was not until his death that I realized how I had taken him for granted.

Stephan Daae had been a legendary violinist and had given up his career to raise me. I had never given much thought to that fact until his death, when I realized that he had given up his dreams to raise me when he could easily have foisted me off onto any number of relatives and continued his career. Also, I realized that he wanted me to pursue music not only for my sake, but for his as well, as part of his legacy.

My father had raised me to believe I was wonderful, special. His little kitten, as he had always called me. He told me stories, wonderful stories of Little Lotte, whose father had sent her the Angel of Music, while he played his violin for me. I had grown up in a world of fairytales, of dreams and wishes.

On his deathbed, as he lay dying of the fever, he told me that he would send me the Angel of Music, to guide me. I was just twelve at the time, and had wholeheartedly believed him. He had raised me not to fear the unknown, but to embrace it.

Throughout the next five years after his death I had floundered, unable to do anything but mourn. Oh, I went through the motions of song and dance, but my heart, which had not been in it very much in the first place, was not in it at all after my father's death. How I had ever managed to get the job in the chorus of the Paris Opera House was beyond me! My vocal performance at auditions had been weak, my dancing wooden, and they had politely dismissed me.

The next day a courier had brought me a letter, from the manager of the Opera House, Monsieur Lefevre, personally asking me to join the chorus.

I had been amazed, but elated nonetheless. I was given a private dressing room, while the rest of the chorus girls were made to dress in the common dressing room. I did not know why I was getting special treatment, but I did not think much of it. Still mourning for my father, I existed in a world separate from those around me, where I constantly listened for the Angel of Music, even as my faith in my father faltered, believing that he had left me, alone and unprepared for the harsh world.

And then! Only weeks after I started at the Opera House I first heard His voice. The Angel of Music.

I was alone in my dressing room after a particularly brutal rehearsal. I could not seem to follow the steps and was constantly going the wrong way, much to the delight of the rest of the chorus girls, who were jealous of my private dressing room and the way Monsieur Lefevre treated me. They laughed and taunted, though never in front of Lefevre. Monsieur Reyer had yelled at me, calling me an untalented child. I was crumpled on the floor of the dressing room, head in my hands, sobbing. "Oh, Papa! Why did you leave me? Why? You told me you would send me the Angel of Music! I cannot do this. I cannot go on alone," I sobbed quietly. My mind was muddled with pain and confusion and I truly lacked the will to go on.

That was when I heard it, His voice. "Do not cry, my child."

I lifted my head a little, but there was no one there.

"Who…who is there?" I asked, frightened.

"Do not be frightened, child. It is I."

The voice was beautiful. It was hunting and eerie, yet strangely warm and compassionate, and it seemed to be all around me, and inside me.

"Papa?" I asked, bewildered.

There was a soft laugh. "No, child. It is I, the Angel of Music."

My heart pounded in my chest as I sat up. I was staring directly into the large mirror that took up part of the dressing room's wall. My long brown hair was tangled around my tear streaked face, and my green eyes were red-rimmed.

"The Angel of Music?" I repeated stupidly. My mind seemed to be lagging several steps behind the conversation.

"Did you not ask for me?" he asked with a touch of humour in his voice.

"Y-yes…"

"I am here," he said softly.

And so it began. Just as Papa had promised, the Angel of Music came to me daily. He taught me, trained me. He took my voice and molded it. His gentle ways and encouragement built up my self confidence and broke down the walls that I had built around myself since my father's death.

He was unlike any angel I had ever imagined. His voice was as close to heaven as I had ever heard. He brought tears to my eyes when he sang. With me he was kind, gentle and encouraging.

Yet he possessed an amazing wit and a scathing tongue when things went on that he did not agree with. It did not take me long to figure out that my Angel of Music and the Opera Ghost were one and the same. It seemed that he did not have an interest in just me, but in the Opera as a whole. He said he had to keep the Opera House running well so I had a place to perform.

He knew everything that went on. Be it rehearsals or backstage, there was nothing he did not hear, nothing he did not see. He despised Carlotta and called her a painted pig with a voice to match. Piangi, he said, was simply Carlotta's shadow, and any potential he had was ruined by Carlotta's pushy influence.

The chorus girls, he said, were merely a flock of hens, clucking just to hear their own voices. Where once their words reduced me to tears, I soon held my head high and ignored them, much to their chagrin. The only two people in the entire Opera House that he never said a word about were Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg. He did not encourage my friendship with Meg, but he never had anything bad to say about her.

Where my life had been muddled as I wallowed in pain and grief, the Angel of Music brought my life to a new level. I imagine it did not seem like much had changed to anyone who looked at me. I had always been accused of having my head in the clouds, and after my father's death I was drowning in sorrow. After the Angel of Music came to me, my life became like a dream. I was always expecting to hear his voice, though he only communicated to me in my dressing room, when I was alone. But even when I was not hearing his voice, he was with me, encouraging me simply because I knew he was there, watching, listening….

"Congratulations, my child…."

I was startled out of my reverie by his voice. "Oh, thank you, Angel. I could not have done it without you!"

"You flatter me, child. I could not have taught you, had you a voice like Carlotta's."

I giggled. "You will be watching, will you not?"

"Of course," he said.

"From Box Five?" I asked timidly.

"Yes."

It was widely known throughout the Opera House that the Opera Ghost occupied Box Five, the best box in the house. It was kept empty for his use. There was still much I did not understand about my Angel, but it was not in my nature to doubt, so I simply accepted that which I did not know.

I was nervous, wringing my hands and pacing through my dressing room.

"Calm down, child. You are making _me _nervous."

As he always did, the Angel knew exactly what to say to ease my nervousness. I smiled. "I have never performed a lead before, I _am_ nervous!"

"You know your lines and you have rehearsed the steps a million times. You will be fine."

"Thank you Angel!"

Just then there was a tentative rap on the door. I knew it was my hairdresser, coming to help me into my costume and makeup.

I do not know exactly how I knew, but I instinctively knew that he was gone. Without his presence in the room it seemed cold and foreign.


	2. Think Of Me

I watched from the shadows as Christine greeted her hairdresser, who was carrying the heavy jeweled dress that she would wear for the performance.

She disappeared with the girl, Claudia, behind the dressing screen and when she emerged a moment later she was a queen.

She was beautiful!

The red and gold of the dress accentuated her milky skin and the hairdresser worked quickly to fix her hair in a mass of curls. Claudia was quick putting on her makeup and when Christine finally stood before the mirror the transformation was complete. The makeup covered the circles that Christine had under her eyes. Circles that she had had since the first time I had laid eyes on her.

How could I forget the first time I had seen her?

xxx

It was just a year previous, as the Opera held auditions for their chorus. I was in my normal place in box five, boredly watching the proceedings. Most of the girls were untalented, or had middling talent at best. They performed with no heart, no soul.

And then they called her, the last one to sing.

"Christine Daae?"

"Yes. I-I am here," she stammered, walking forward. She came to stand in the middle of the stage, and I felt myself moving forward, to the edge of the box, not noticing or caring that I was stepping out of the shadows.

She was exquisite. Her long, dark brown hair fell to her waist in a mass of curls. She had a classically beautiful face, with high cheekbones, a pert nose and large eyes. Rarely had I seen such beauty.

Then she began to sing, and I felt goosebumps on my arms. Her voice! Her voice was that of an angel's. Her pitch, her tone, it was absolutely perfect. As she sang, I heard her potential, even as I noticed that her singing was as uninspired as the rest of the girls'. But as I watched her, I realized that, unlike the rest of the girls', she did not appear bored. Rather, there was an aura of sadness about her that you could almost see, could almost touch. Her eyes held an unmistakable sadness, and there were dark circles under her eyes, perhaps from a lack of sleep.

I stepped back into the shadows, hoping no one had seen me, even as I saw Madame Giry glance away and back at the girl.

Christine was dismissed and after she had gone I listened to their conversation.

"A wholly untalented bunch, the lot of them," said Monsieur Reyer with a sigh. "And that last one, have you ever heard a less talented singer?"

Madame Giry tilted her head. "She has potential, perhaps, with the right teacher."

I heard nothing else of their conversation. Madame Giry had given me an idea. If I could just get that girl, that Christine Daae, here, I knew I could teach her. Bring out her true talent, which was hidden beneath her sadness.

With a flash of my black cloak I disappeared through box five's hidden door and into one of the many hidden passageways that riddled the earth beneath the Paris Opera House.

Down I went, down five stories into the bowels of the Opera, to the rooms, which made up my home, the rooms that I had personally designed years ago when the Opera House was first being built.

I sat down at my desk and pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment and began writing a letter. The Opera Ghost had been entirely too quiet these past months, I decided. It was time to show my power once more.

"Monsieur Lefevre, Manager, Paris Opera House," I whispered as I wrote. I smiled thinking of the reaction this letter would get….

"Christine Daae?" Monsieur Reyer thundered. "You must be joking! She was terrible."

Monsieur Lefevre ran a hand around his collar, as if it had suddenly become too tight. "Yes. I mean, no. She was not terrible. She was wonderful, and I have written to her personally and asked her to join the chorus. She has also been given dressing room number two."

Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry were gathered in Monsieur Lefevre's office. Lefevre had just announced that they were hiring Christine Daae.

Reyer ranted and raved while Lefevre, who was a pale man to begin with, progressively paled further as Reyer yelled.

Madame Giry, though, was silent, her gaze occasionally flickering to the large, ornate mirror that was built into the wall across from Lefevre's desk. The argument continued for another several minutes before Giry looked away from the mirror and stood up. She rapped her walking stick onto the floor once, and Reyer stopped yelling, his face still scarlet.

"The girl has potential, as I said after her audition," she said to Reyer. "If Monsieur Lefevre wishes her to perform, she will perform. He is, after all, the one running this Opera House."

Lefevre blanched slightly, but remained silent. He refused to catch Madame Giry's eye. Reyer, seeming too angry to even speak, stormed out of the room with a curt, "Yes, he is running this Opera House, and if he wants to ruin it, that is his choice!" With that he slammed the door shut, leaving silence in his wake.

"It is the Ghost, is it not, Monsieur?" Giry asked after a moment.

Lefevre sighed and took off his glasses. He rubbed his eyebrows as if he had a headache.

"Yes, it is the Ghost. He sent me this," Lefevre said finally, taking a letter from his pocket and tossing it onto the desk.

Madame Giry took it gingerly and read it.

"So, he wants to tutor her, give her voice lessons," she said finally.

"Yes. And he wants her to have a private dressing room. How do I explain that?"

"You do not need to explain. After all, you _are_ the manager."

"Oh yes, I have the _title_ of manager, but you and I both know who it is that runs this place!" Lefevre said with another sigh.

I smiled from where I stood, behind the two-way mirror. It was good that Lefevre knew his place. It _was_ I who ran the Opera House, as he had said. The man had so little spine it was a miracle that he could even stand, but that worked well for my purposes.

"He still asks for a salary, I assume?" Giry asked. She alone was Monsieur Lefevre's confidante.

"Of course. As if this place makes enough money to pay his extraordinary salary as well as Carlotta and Piangi's."

Madame Giry sniffed. "Carlotta is not worth half the salary you pay her, and you know it."

"I know that. But she has a name, people know who she is. Without her, I doubt this place could even stay running."

Monsieur Lefevre sighed again. "I am resigning as Manager of the Opera House, just as soon as I can find someone stupid enough to take over."

"Monsieur, you jest! You cannot leave!" Madame Giry gasped.

"Oh, I most certainly can, and I most certainly will. I am tired of having to live under this Opera Ghosts rule! Do this, do that; I cannot take it any longer."

So, Lefevre was planning to leave. I had wondered how long before he would. I had been seeing signs of his unhappiness for a while. This was not good. I had Lefevre exactly where I wanted him, paying my salary, leaving me my box, taking my orders. It would not be as easy to train someone else to do my bidding. But at least I had Christine, which was one thing I could be grateful for…

xxx

I was brought back to the present when I heard Claudia tell Christine that she was all ready. Christine turned from the mirror, smiling at Claudia.

"Thank you, Claudia."

"You are welcome, Miss Daae. Good luck tonight, I know you will be wonderful!" little Claudia said, bobbing a little curtsy as she hurried out of the dressing room.

"You must hurry, child. The opera is about to begin," I said softly.

"Oh, Angel, I am so scared! But I will try to do a good job for you!"

"You will be magnificent, child. I will be waiting for you afterwards, and do not worry. I will be there the entire production."

Christine smiled once again, looking towards the ceiling as if she expected to see me floating in the air above her. "This is for you, Papa. I hope you will be watching tonight, I hope you will be proud," she murmured quietly as she left the room.

I stood for a second longer, to make sure she was not going to come back, then quickly opened the mirror and stepped through. I placed a single long stemmed rose, tied with a black satin ribbon, on her dressing table, amidst the make-up and perfume bottles. I turned and went quickly back to the mirror, careful not to look at my reflection as I stepped through and pulled it silently shut behind me. I knew I must hurry so I would be in my box before the curtain rose.

xxx

She was perfect, absolutely perfect! From the first note, the audience sat, enraptured. The roar of applause after every song was deafening. She held the audience captive with her beauty, her grace and her voice. Although there had been murmurs from the patrons when they first realized that they were not going to be seeing Carlotta, by the time intermission came everyone was raving about the unknown Christine Daae.

As the curtain fell for intermission I sat quietly in the shadows of box five, listening to the comments being made, when suddenly I heard quite a commotion from the Manager's box, which was next to Box Five. I looked to the right, trying to get a better look.

"Can it be? Can it be Christine?" cried a loud voice that belonged to a handsome young gentleman seated in box four. He was practically falling over the railing trying to get one last glimpse of Christine as the curtain fell.

"You know that young lady, Vicomte?" asked Monsieur Andre.

The Vicomte was flipping through his playbill. "I think it is she! We grew up together, spent our entire childhood together. She has changed so! The last time I saw her she was but a gawky child, and now look at her! She is stunning!"

I felt an emotion course through me, an emotion that was no stranger to me. Jealousy.

The Vicomte continued chatting with the managers, telling them of the summers he spent with Christine at the Ocean. I tried in vain to tune out his voice, but it seemed to cut straight through me, filling me with his foolish ramblings.

The curtain was lifted and the second half of the performance was underway. It was hard to concentrate on Christine as the Vicomte spent the second half of the play hanging halfway over the railing staring at Christine through a pair of Opera glasses. It was rather distracting, and it was making me angry as well.

I forced myself to ignore the Vicomte and instead focused on Christine, who was perfect. Her voice captivated the audience and when the curtain finally fell to end the night's performance I had never heard such cheering before. After a standing ovation for Christine, I hurried through the passageway to get to Christine's dressing room. I had to be there when she got there, to give her my congratulations on a job well done.


	3. The Mirror

The performance ended in a roar of applause unlike anything I had ever heard. I was about to hurry off to my dressing room when Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer stopped me. Reyer gave me a stiff nod of approval, high praise coming from him.

"Christine, you did well. He will be pleased," Madame Giry told me in her solemn manner, but she gave me a warm, genuine smile. "Now, go back out there, they are calling your name."

"Wha-what? What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

Meg, who was peering through the closed curtain, turned and said, "They are all standing, Mama! They are shouting for Christine!"

"You see, go back out there," Madame Giry said, giving me a gentle nudge. Flustered I walked forward and stepped through the curtains, which Meg held open for me.

The bright lights blinded me for a moment, but soon I realized that everyone was standing, clapping. When they saw me cries rang out from the crowd, and a small child walked across the stage to hand me a bouquet of flowers, which I took hesitantly, my hands shaking. I managed another curtsy before I dashed backstage, leaving the audience still cheering. The curtain fell once more.

But even with all the applause, there was only one opinion that mattered, one voice I wanted to hear, to know how he felt about my performance. The Angel of Musics'.

As I walked to my dressing room Madame Giry began yelling at the chorus girls. "You were a disgrace! Such ronds de jambe! Such temps de cuisse! We will rehearse until you get it right! Now!" and she banged her walking stick onto the stage. The girls gathered around, settling into rehearsal. Some of them threw me nasty looks as I passed, but I ignored them and walked down the hall towards my dressing room.

"Bravissimi, my child…"

I gasped. The Angel! I had never heard his voice out of my dressing room! I whirled around, hoping to see him, but the only one I saw was Meg, who was hurrying to catch up to me.

"Christine!" she cried. "Where have you been hiding yourself? I haven't seen you for so long! Oh, Christine, you were perfect tonight, so much better than la Carlotta! Mama said you have been working with a new tutor. Who is he?" Meg's blue eyes shone with curiosity. She spoke rapidly, practically bouncing with excitement. She rather reminded me of a little finch.

"Your mother told about my tutor?" I asked, dropping the bouquet of flowers. About a week after the Angel had first visited me Madame Giry came to my dressing room to talk to me about how much I had improved. She suspected I had a new tutor. I had hesitantly told her of my Angel, fearing she would think me crazy, but she had accepted my story without hesitation. But I had asked her not to say anything to anyone.

"Well, no-no she did not say you did, not exactly. She just said that you had improved so much that you must have a tutor," Meg said. "At least I think that is what she said. She was talking to Monsieur Lefevre and I just overheard them talking in his office one day while I was waiting for Mama. I cannot say for sure what she said."

I looked at Meg, whom I considered to be my best friend. She had been the first to befriend me after I was hired for the chorus, and she never seemed to hold it against me that I had a private dressing room. She had listened to me talk of my father for hours on end, while she told me of her life being raised by her mother after her father left them.

I glanced around to see if anyone was near before I motioned to Meg to follow me into my dressing room. "Meg," I said as I shut the door behind us. "My father used to speak of an Angel. An Angel of Music. When he died, he told me that he would send me the Angel of Music, to guide me. I used to dream he'd appear, but he never did. Then, just after I came here, I heard him. I heard the Angel of Music! He has been speaking to me, here in this room. I can hear his voice, feel his presence, but I have never seen him. Somehow I know he's always with me, even when I cannot hear him."

Meg was silent and I began to feel panicked. Surely she thought I was mad, raving about an Angel!

She took a deep breath; "Christine," she said carefully, "You must have been dreaming. This story of yours, it just cannot be true. You have changed so much since I first met you. You have become so distant….when I talk to you it is almost as if you hardly know me. You are talking in riddles, Christine, and it is just not like you. Look at you, your face is white, and your hands, they are like ice," she said, grasping my hands.

"You do not believe me, do you? It frightens me sometimes, Meg. Sometimes I fear I am going mad…" I said softly.

Suddenly a voice rang out from the doorway of the dressing room.

"Meg Giry, are you a dancer?" Madame Giry asked sternly.

Meg nodded, looking ashamed.

"Then come and practice, now," Madame Giry said, waving Meg out of the room. Meg gave me one last look, almost frightened, before she hurried out of my dressing room.

"My dear, I was asked to give you this," Madame Giry said quietly, handing me a note before she followed Meg out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Curious, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single piece of paper.

_A red scarf…the attic…Little Lotte._

I mused over the meaning of the note as I walked behind my dressing screen and changed into a simple white frock.

Just then there was a brisk knock on the door.

"Christine Daae, where is your scarf?"

I cocked my head at the sound of a voice which seemed vaguely familiar.

"Monsieur?" I said uncertainly as I came out from behind the dressing screen.

The door swung open and a dark haired man walked through, grinning broadly. "Surely you cannot have lost it. After all the trouble I went to! Fourteen years old and soaked to the skin…"

"Because you had run into the sea to fetch my scarf! Oh Raoul!" I said incredulously. "So it is you!"

"Christine Daae, I could barely believe it when I saw you on that stage tonight!"

"Oh, Raoul, it is so wonderful to see you!" I said, grinning. Raoul quickly enveloped me into a hug. I had not seen him for years. He had grown from a gangly teenager into a very handsome young man, with his broad shoulders, wavy black hair and sparkling dark eyes. He was a handsome figure, indeed, in his black tails.

"Oh, Christine, it has been so long! I did not even know you were singing here tonight."

"I was not supposed to be, but the lead, Carlotta, was unable to perform."

"You were splendid, Christine. Your father must be so proud. Is he here tonight?" Raoul asked.

My spirits fell. "No, Raoul. He died five years ago," I said as I sat down at my dressing table and began removing my jewelry.

"Oh, Christine, I am so sorry," he said softly. "Your father was a wonderful man."

"Yes, I know," I agreed with a catch in my voice as I tried not to cry.

"He would have been so proud of you Christine. You were wonderful; everyone in the audience was talking about you and wondering about you."

I looked away, flustered. "Thank you, Raoul," I said softly.

"Do you remember those rainy spring days when your father would play his violin for us and tell us those stories?" he asked with a fond smile.

"Yes and those picnics in the attic?" I said.

Raoul laughed. "How could I forget? Oh, Christine, how I have missed you! Do you remember Little Lotte? I think of you whenever I remember that story. Little Lotte let her mind wander…"

"You remember that, too!"

"Little Lotte thought: am I fonder of dolls…"

My voice joined his as we recited my father's favourite story. "Or of goblins, of shoes. Or of riddles, or frocks."

"I cannot remember any more," Raoul said with a laugh.

"You do not remember? 'You know what I love most, Lotte said. It's when I am asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…"

"Oh, yes!" Raoul said. "The Angel of Music sings songs in my head…"

I turned in my chair and caught Raoul's eye. "Raoul, Father told me, 'When I am in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you, to guide you.' Well, after Father died I was visited by the Angel of Music!"

"No doubt of it, you were wonderful!" Raoul said dismissively. "Now, let us go to supper."

"No, Raoul, I cannot, the Angel of Music is very strict," I said, starting to feel panicked. The Angel had firm rules.

"I shan't keep you up late, I promise! I have just found you; I am not going to lose you again! You must change and I must get my hat. Two minutes, no more, Little Lotte! I will return for you," Raoul said as he stepped grasped my hand and kissed it softly, gallantly. I yanked my hand back, an odd feeling coursing through me at his touch. He turned and rushed from the room, shutting the door behind him.

"No, Raoul!" I cried, yanking the door open to look for him, but he was already gone. I went back into the dressing room and locked the door. I walked over to my dressing table and noticed, for the first time, a blood red rose tied with a black satin ribbon. It was lying atop my hand mirror. I picked up the rose, knowing there was only one who could have left it. The Angel. "Things have changed, Raoul," I said softly, brushing the soft petals of the rose against my cheek.

"Who is this ignorant fool, basking in your glory?"

I gasped at the sound of the Angel's voice. I stood up, looking frantically around the room. Where his voice was usually warm and kind, he was now cold and harsh, angry even.

"That-that was Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagney. H e-he is an old childhood friend…"

"Did I not tell you that if you are to pursue a career in music that you do not have time for frivolous activities?" the Angel asked coldly.

"Y-yes, Angel. I am sorry!"

"Christine, you were superb tonight," the Angel said softly. "Your performance was perfect. I do not like this insolent young man trying to share _my_ triumph."

My heart skipped. He thought my performance was perfect! Somehow, though he was acting so cold, that knowledge warmed me.

"I am sorry, Angel, I was not thinking," hanging my head, shamed that I had disappointed him.

"No, you were not."

"Did-did you leave me this rose?" I asked.

"I did."

"Thank you, Angel," I said, humbly. Thoughts of Raoul flew from my head. All I could think of was that I had to see him; I had to see my Angel. I owed him so much. All of these months I had been hearing his voice in the shadows as he taught me, guided me. I had grown so close to him, my Angel, my tutor. Now I just wanted to see him, be in his heavenly presence.

"Angel, I am sorry, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. Please, Angel, let me see you." I cried.

There was a very loud silence and I feared I had driven him away completely. "Angel?"

Nothing. I began to panic, thinking that my foolishness had lost me my Angel of Music. What would I do without his guidance?

"Angel, are you here? Please, speak to me!"

"I am here, child," he said after another moment. My heart flew into my throat.

"Please, Angel, please come to me! I want to see you!" I was practically sobbing. "Please, I need you to guide me! I was weak, please forgive me, Master!"

"Flattering child," the Angel said, his voice not quite as cold as it had been. Relief flooded through me at the sound of his voice, "You wish to see me? You wish to come with me, to join me in my world?"

"Oh, yes, Angel," I said breathlessly. "Please, hide no more! Come to me, my Angel!"

"Then you shall know me and see why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside."

I stood in front of the mirror, confused. What on earth did he mean, he was inside the mirror? My heart pounded loudly, the sound echoing in my ears. I stared hard at my reflection. My face was pale, melting into the white of my gown. The dark of my hair accentuated how pale I was, and my eyes seemed unnaturally large as I gazed at the mirror. The mirror was turning gray, almost foggy and my reflection was disappearing. Suddenly, deep in the depths of my reflection I noticed a dark figure taking shape and I gasped.

"Angel, is it you?" I asked.

"I am your Angel. Come to me," came the quiet whisper of the Angel's hypnotic voice.

I held out my hand and stepped forward, mesmerized by mirror, and even more mesmerized by the figure within.

All of a sudden the dressing room's doorknob began to rattle, but I barely noticed it.

"Whose voice is that? Who is that in there?" Raoul demanded.

The mirror then slid to the side, with a flash that blinded me. Briefly I closed my eyes and when I opened them again there was a swirl of mist and a dark figure outlined by the glowing lights coming from behind. My eyes widened, and I felt my self gaping, my mouth open in amazement.

"Come to me, my child," the Angel said, reaching out his hand. He grasped my wrist firmly, yet gently, and I gasped at his cold touch. I stepped forward, through the mirror.

I longed for a closer look at my Angel, but he turned abruptly from me and all I caught was a glint of white beneath the black fedora he wore. There was a whisper of his cloak as he turned, still holding my wrist, leading me through the murky darkness

I heard a tremendous crash from behind me, as apparently Raoul burst through the door, but the mirror had already slid shut behind me. I could barely Raoul's voice, sounding panicky, as he shouted; "Christine! Angel!"


	4. The Phantom of the Opera

The mirror slid open. Christine stood there, looking every inch an angel with her flowing white gown. Her hand was outstretched and there was a look of awe on her beautiful, innocent face. Her jewel green eyes were wide and trusting as I grasped her wrist. She gasped at my touch. That foolish young man, the Vicomte, was shouting outside the door and rattling the doorknob, but I ignored him. Christine had come to me, which was all that mattered.

She stared up at me, trying to see my face, but I turned from her. Just as the mirror slid shut behind her there was a crash and through the two-way mirror I saw the Vicomte burst into the room, having apparently used his shoulder to knock the door in. His hair was mussed and he looked positively panicked as he looked around the room, his suit coat hanging off one shoulder.

"Christine! Angel!" he shouted, looking wildly around, not understanding how the room could be empty when he had heard voices coming from within just moments before. I gave a triumphant grin, which was hidden from Christine by the shadows that now engulfed us.

With only the light from one small lantern to guide us, I led her by the hand down level after level to the underground lake that lay beneath the Opera House. It was silent, the only noise was the sound of our footsteps echoing on stone. I could hear her breath coming in quick little gasps as she followed me. She did not question me, did not ask why it was that her Angel was dragging her down into the murky depths beneath the Opera. Trustingly, she allowed me to lead her, like a lost child.

When we turned the corner the underground lake came into view. A slight mist was rising off the water, and the cavernous room smelled of must and mildew. The air was cold and damp and Christine shivered slightly. Several torches burned in sconces on the wall and the flickering light danced on the murky water and illuminated a small boat that was tethered to an outcropping that served as a dock. I led her through the mist to the dock and hung the lantern on the bow of the boat.

"Come, my Angel," I said softly. Christine glanced behind her and looked at me. The light glanced off of my mask and her green eyes widened, though whether in fascination or fear, I could not tell.

I helped her into the boat, which bobbed slightly. She sat down at the front of the boat, staring into the mist. I stepped into the boat behind her and pushed off from the dock. I used a long, wooden pole to guide the boat across the lake.

"Your performance was superb, Christine," I said softly as I rowed.

There was silence, only the lap of water against the boat. "Thank you, Angel. I could not have done it without you."

"You seek my guidance, do you not?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then you must obey my commands," I said firmly.

Silence again, then, "Yes, master."

"You do not have time for games and foolishness, not if you wish to rise to your full potential," I said. I felt vaguely like a father chastising a wayward child, but I had to get my point across. The sooner Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagney was out of the picture, the better.

"I understand, master. You are my guide, my guardian. I will not disappoint you," she said meekly, bowing her head.

I could practically feel my power over her. It was a heady feeling, knowing the control I had.

I guided the boat to another dock on the far side of the lake. Quickly I stepped out of the boat and tied it to a large stone post. I held out my hand to Christine and she took my hand trustingly. The look she gave me was dreamy, almost trancelike. "I hear your voice in my dreams," she said. "That voice, that angelic voice, calls to me, calls my name. Sometimes I feel like you are part of me, inside my mind."

My heart pounded as she looked up at me. She seemed bewildered as she raised a hand to my face, her hand brushing over the cool silk of my mask. Our eyes met, her emerald eyes searching, prying. "What are you hiding?" she whispered. "Why do you hide from me?"

I jerked back, alarmed. I had almost let her remove my mask! At once anger and confusion rushed through me. Her eyes were still searching mine, those infernal, bewitching eyes! I suddenly felt I knew how Adam had felt when confronted with Eve and her apple, as if to resist her would be my death.

But I had not brought her here to terrify her in the first ten minutes. I willed myself to calm down and smiled slightly.

"Come, child," I said, ignoring her questioning gaze. "You must get some rest. You have had an exhausting day. Tomorrow, tomorrow we shall have lessons."

Disappointment was written across her face and I could practically see her desire to question me battle with her desire to obey. She had a strong will, I could tell that from the beginning, even through her sadness. It was well hidden, but I knew it was there. Obedience won out and she nodded. "Yes, master."

I led her through the darkness and under and archway which led my chambers. Christine gasped as we entered.

Though it was lit throughout by gas candelabras, some of them towering six feet high, not all of them were lit and the room was bathed in shadows. A massive pipe organ stood on a dais along one wall. The furnishings were sparse, but a number of trinkets were placed about, mementos of my travels, my days before the Paris Opera House. Christine looked around in wonder, but said nothing. I wondered if she noticed the bars of the gate that slid down to block the archway, the only exit from the chamber. If she did, she made no mention of it. She still seemed dazed.

"Come," I said, leading her through an arched doorway across the room from the organ.

Again she gasped when she entered the room. A large four poster bed sat atop a dais, draped in gauzy white curtains. There was a mirrored dressing table and a large, ornately carved wardrobe. On a small table next to the bed sat a gas lamp and a music box with a fur covered monkey in a Persian vest holding cymbals. Christine went straight to the music box, running her fingers lightly over the fur.

"This room, it is magnificent!" she said, her face shining with excitement.

"It is yours," I said simply. "You will find clothes in the wardrobe. I will leave you to rest."

With that, I turned from her, sweeping out the door and shutting it behind me.

My heart was pounding as I strode across the room to the organ. I removed my hat and cloak, tossing them onto the large, throne like chair that stood in the centre of the room. I sat at the organ and took a deep breath. I buried my face in my hands, trying to block out the memory of her face, her beautiful, angelic face. I felt myself losing the control that I had worked so many years to achieve. I had started this charade of becoming Christine's Angel of Music simply to become her teacher, her guide, to help her develop that amazing voice. I had, at first, come to feel towards her as a father, but the longer I had worked with her I had felt myself becoming more and more attracted to her, though I fought hard against those feelings, knowing them to be futile.

I began playing, if only to calm my nerves. It was a song I had written not long after I had started to realize my feelings for Christine. It was called _The Music of the Night_. It echoed my feelings, my affinity with the night.

I began singing softly…

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

_Silently your senses, abandon their defenses_

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day,_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the Music of the Night,"_ Iclosed my eyes and my voice swelled

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!_

_Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before!_

_Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar_

_And you'll live as you've never lived before_…." I opened my eyes and started. Christine was standing before me staring at me, entranced.

"_Softly, deftly, music shall surround you_

_Feel it, hear it closing in around you_

"_Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness which you know you cannot fight,_

_The darkness of the music of the night_."

I stepped away from the organ and continued singing; watching Christine as she listened to the words of the song, felt the music course through her. She was swaying slightly, her eyes never leaving my face, her mouth slightly open. I walked towards her.

"_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world,_

_Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before,_

_Let your soul take you were you long to be_

_Only then, can you belong to me…"_ I was inches away from her and my voice, my song, was weaving a hypnotic web around her. Our eyes met and I saw a flicker of desire in the depths of her emerald eyes.

I lifted my hand to her face, not quite touching her.

"_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication,_

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation_

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night_…."

My hand touched her cheek and I gently caressed her soft skin. She leaned towards me and my heart raced. A voice in the back of my head was screaming for me to get away, but I was frozen.

"Angel," she whispered, and then she fainted, collapsing in a heap at my feet.

I leapt back, the spell that had drawn us together vanished and suddenly I was myself again, a hideous monster in a cold, dark cavern with an innocent angel that I had essentially kidnapped. She had come to trust me believing me to be the Angel of Music, her teacher, her guide, and now I had brought her here, to my world. She thought I was some kind of heavenly being, but I was just a man. Guilt, an emotion I was highly unfamiliar with, coursed through me as I gazed down at her still, sleeping form. The poor child had to be exhausted. I reached down and gingerly took her into my arms. She stirred slightly, but did not wake. I froze as she shifted, pressing her face against my chest with a little sigh and I pulled her closer to me, my heart still hammering in my chest. I took her into the bedroom that I had decorated for her and gently set her down in the middle of the bed. I pulled the blankets over her and gently stroked her cheek once more. Her skin was soft and warm, her cheeks flushed, the only spot of color in her pale face. I traced the line of her brow and down the fine line of her cheekbone.

A swirl of emotion rushed through me. Longing, desire, guilt and an overwhelming rush of helplessness. What kind of chance did a monster like me have with an innocent angel such as Christine Daae?


	5. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

I awoke slowly, uncertain at first as to where I was. My head was pounding. I looked around, a sense of panic building inside of me, until everything started coming back to me.

I remembered mist, swirling mist, and a vast, glassy lake. There was a boat, and of course, there was the man. The Angel of Music. The Phantom. The Opera Ghost.

My thoughts were swirling. I remembered going through the mirror. His cold, gentle touch as he guided me to the underground lake. I remembered him sending me to bed, and that I was exhausted, but the sound of his voice from the other room drew me to him. Vaguely I remembered going to him as he sang. That beautiful, hypnotic voice! It felt as though I were dreaming, though I knew I was wide awake, as he walked towards me.

I shivered as I recalled the desire that had coursed through me as he sang of the night. I remembered his voice, his touch, and then everything had gone dark.

Now, I was in bed, still in my white gown from after the Gala, and I had no idea how I had gotten there, except for a fleeting memory of being held in strong arms that had cradled me, cherished me, but I was not sure if that was part of a dream or not.

I heard the faint sound of the organ coming from the other room, but I did not hear him singing. I sighed as I got out of the bed. I was filled with confusion. All of this time, I had thought that I was being visited by the Angel of Music, but the man outside my room was just that: a man. Not an angel, though his voice held a power I had never known before. But he was real, perhaps the most real person I had ever met. His voice commanded respect and he was a striking figure. He was stern, but somehow incredibly gentle. And his eyes! His eyes seemed to see straight through me and into my very soul. Haunting, piercing blue eyes that held a million secrets.

Who was this person, this Phantom?

I was getting nowhere with my rambling thoughts, so I opened the wardrobe and pulled out a lavender dress. It was elegant, far more elegant than anything I owned. But all of the dresses that filled the wardrobe were equally ornate. I changed into the dress, noting the little purple jewels that were sewn into the bodice. They looked like amethysts, but I had never heard of a dress being decorated with gemstones. A row of tiny white seed pearls decorated the collar and I was certain that this dress cost far more than even Carlotta's fanciest gown, and this was the plainest of the dresses in the wardrobe.

After I was dressed I sat at the dressing table and stared at my reflection. The dress was stunning and I could not help but feel that this was a dress for a Queen, not a drab little sparrow such as myself.

I brushed my hair, using the jewel encrusted silver brush that sat on the dressing table. When I was done I figured that I had stalled long enough. Not to mention that my stomach was growling. I hesitantly opened the bedroom door and stepped out.

The man…the Angel, (I did not know what to call him!) sat at the organ. He was dressed casually in what looked like brightly colored silken Persian robe. It was far different from the dramatic black he had been wearing the night before. He was concentrating on the song he was playing, stopping every few minutes to jot something down on a piece of parchment, using a quill pen. I crept over, unsure what to do. When I was a few feet behind him I cleared my throat and said, "Good morning, master."

He jumped slightly, startled, then stood gracefully and turned around. "Christine, you are awake," he said.

"Yes," I replied awkwardly.

He took a deep breath. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," I said. It was brighter in the room today. There were more gas lamps lit and the room seemed far warmer than it had last night. The interior of the room was magnificent; ornately carved stone walls, tall candelabra, carved sconces. The furniture was elegant with the most beautiful fabrics and rich, carved wood. The organ stood regally against one wall and there was a large, ornate gilt framed mirror on the wall beside it. Bookshelves lined one wall and they were filled with books and trinkets.

I looked back at him and found myself staring at his face. The mask he wore covered more than half of his face. It seemed more haunting in the light than it had in the shadows of the night before. It was white satin, cut to cover most of his forehead, the entire left side of his face and drew a line from his nose along the edge of his top lip and down to the edge of his jaw. His brilliant blue eyes burned, even through the eye hole cut into the mask. What I could see of his face was handsome; his skin was pale and smooth, his eyebrow arched gracefully over blue eyes framed with thick lashes. His hair was straight and dark brown, smoothed back away from his face. Our eyes locked for several minutes before I finally glanced away, flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"You must be hungry, please, sit down," he said, his beautiful voice had cooled somewhat. He motioned me towards a small table with two chairs tucked against the wall to the side of the organ. He disappeared through yet another archway that I had not noticed the night before. He returned a moment later with a tray. He set it down and sat down across the table from me. He poured tea into two teacups and handed one to me.

"Thank you," I said, feeling a strange sense of unreality. I was sipping tea sitting across from the Angel of Music.

I stirred sugar and milk into my tea, busying myself so I did not have to look at the man across from me. There was a plate of croissants and a jar of honey. I fixed a croissant and nibbled it.

"Would you like more tea?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I darted a glance at him. His hands, holding the tiny teacup, were large, with long fingers that could have looked quite silly holding such a tiny teacup, but he possessed such grace that every move he made seemed elegant. He was almost catlike in his movements. "No, thank you, Angel," I replied.

He sighed and looked down. "Perhaps you should call me Erik," he said finally.

I looked up at him. I wanted to see what he was hiding behind that mask, the curiosity starting to burn inside of me, but of course I said nothing.

"Erik?" I repeated. Then I nodded. "Certainly." There was an unreadable emotion flickering behind his eyes, but he said nothing more.

He stood suddenly and took the tea tray and disappeared through the archway again. My thoughts were jumbled. I did not know what to think of my Angel, Erik. While he was gone I stood and wandered around the room looking at the various odd things that filled the room. Most predominant was, of course, the massive pipe organ. It was beautiful with its pipes of shining gold. I wondered idly if it was real gold, and decided that it would not surprise me if it was. I found myself shuffling through the sheets and sheets of music that were stacked on top of the organ. They were all highly complicated pieces and those that had lyrics called for an amazing vocal range.

"Find anything interesting?" Erik asked dryly from behind me.

I jumped, startled. "I-I was just looking through your music," I said quickly.

"I see that. Well, shall we begin your lessons?"

I nodded as he sat down at the organ. He ran through a few chords so I could warm up.

Time floated along as we worked. He had endless energy and we practised for hours. He was focused, businesslike as we worked. Sometimes he joined as I sang, to point out a specific note or way of singing a certain phrase. Our voices seemed to melt together. Our timing was perfect and as we sang together it was almost as if we could read each other's minds. Who knows, maybe he _could _read my mind. I dared say that not much could surprise me about my Angel of Music.

When he finally took a deep breath and turned in his chair to face me I was exhausted and exhilarated at once. To sing beside such talent was a great honour.

Erik looked at me. The silence between us grew as a flicker of an emotion that almost seemed like desire crossed his face. As quickly as it was there it was gone again, leaving his face cold and unreadable. The warm closeness that we had shared while singing was gone and in a lightning fast change of mood he became cold and distant.

"Perhaps you should go to your room," he said, his voice harsh.

"But…" I said.

"I think we have practised enough for now," he said firmly, his hands clenched into fists at his side. It was clearly a dismissal.

I did not bother to hide my confusion and irritation. _He_ had brought _me_ here, not the other way around, and now it was as if he was just brushing me aside.

"Fine," I said, trying to make my voice as cool as his. I turned walked stiffly to my room. I slammed the door behind me and threw myself on the bed, confused, angry tears filling my eyes.

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I watched her walk away. She slammed her bedroom door shut and I winced. Her confusion had been clear, but I had to get her away from me.

The sound of our voices together, singing my music, thrilled me. I felt emotions in me that had been dormant for so long I did not even know they still existed. My attraction to her grew as she had looked at me I had felt myself dangerously close to pulling her to me and kissing her. How I longed to just pour my desire for her into a kiss that would surely show her how I felt for her. Only the certainty of her rejection had kept me from doing it. I knew I could not stand it, to feel her rejection and see the disgust that was inevitable.

My heart was still racing. It had taken every bit of self-control that I possessed to stay calm, especially after seeing the hurt in her eyes. The poor child, she just did not understand. How could she? I had been deceiving her from the moment I first spoke to her. She was so naive, so trusting. Sending her away was the only thing I could do to keep from hurting her even more.

I loved her. I realized that now. Over the course of the months that I had been teaching her, I had fallen in love with her. I laughed aloud at the thought. It was futile. There was no way she could ever love me, not once she saw me without the mask. After all, if even my own mother despised me, could never love me or even touch me because of how I looked. How could I ever expect Christine to?

She was so beautiful, so innocent. I wanted her, even as I knew that I could not have her. Jealousy raged through me at the thought of her with the Vicomte. Perhaps she could learn to love me, with the mask. And perhaps, given enough time, if she learned to love me enough with the mask, she would be able to accept me without the mask.

But deep inside I knew I was just fooling myself.

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I sat in my room the rest of the evening while Erik played the organ in the other room. I could tell he was in quite a mood. The room practically shook with the force of his playing. I paced the room until I feared I would wear a hole through the carpet. Then I tried to nap, but it was impossible given the volume of Erik's music. I played with the music box, looked through the dresses in the wardrobe. Anything to occupy my thoughts so I did not think of Erik.

It was useless, though. I could not forget the look in his eyes right before he sent me to my room. I did not know what to make of it. I did not understand why he had brought me here. A nagging thought in the back of my mind was trying to make itself known, but I firmly squashed it down. My thoughts flickered briefly to Raoul. I wondered what he had thought when I was not in my dressing room.

Thinking of Raoul was safe, so I occupied my mind with memories of my childhood. We had been friends for as long as I could remember. We had grown up together, and I had always thought of him as a brother. He had teased me, taunted me and protected me. We had spent hours together telling each other scary stories and begging my father to tell us stories or to play the violin.

The red scarf. How could I forget that? We had been playing at the beach and I was wearing my new red scarf. How proud I had been of it. Eleven years old and I thought I was such a lady with my new scarf and gloves. Then a sudden wind had ripped the scarf off of my neck and flung it into the ocean. I started crying and Raoul had immediately run into the ocean to grab it. When he came back he was soaking wet and cold. Far from being the chivalrous hero, however, he had merely thrust the scarf at me and told me to stop crying, but from that moment on I had a special place in my heart for Raoul. His family had moved away a year later and I had never seen him again, until last night. He had always been a good looking boy, but now he was a very handsome young man, although I was not sure I liked his pushy attitude.

I sighed. The music had finally stopped, so I cautiously poked my head out of the door, but the room was empty. I shut the door and leaned back on it. I did not know where Erik had gone, but I did not think I should try to find him. No doubt I would lose my way in the labyrinth of corridors. I was hungry but I did not dare leave the room. Then I suddenly began to panic. What if he left me here? He had seemed so angry, what if he decided to just leave me? I had no idea how to get back and I would probably wander around until I died. I was just trying to decide whether to go look for him when there was a rap on the door.

I flung the door open and was face to face with Erik. "Erik!" I cried, relief flooding through me.

"Christine. I have supper waiting if you would care to join me," he said. His voice was formal, unreadable, as was his expression.

I nodded. "That sounds wonderful." He turned and we walked to the table, where he motioned me to sit. I did and he disappeared through the archway that I assumed led to a kitchen. He returned a moment later with a tray. He placed a plate at each setting and returned to the kitchen. He was back a minute later with two glasses and a bottle of wine. He poured us each a glass and sat down.

We ate in silence. I glanced up at him a few times, trying to get the nerve to talk to him, but the unreadable look in his eyes kept me silent. Even with the mask I had been able to sense his emotions but now he seemed guarded. When we were done eating he began clearing the table. I stood quickly. "Please, let me help," I said.

Erik looked at me for a moment. "You are my guest and will be treated as such," he said finally. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" he asked, his voice slightly warmer than it had been since before we had begun eating.

"Please," I said and he nodded and turned. I realized I was still standing and sat back down with a little sigh.

He returned with the tea and poured me a cup. Then I noticed that his cup was already filled with a dark liquid.

"What are you drinking?" I asked curiously.

"Tea," he answered. "Russian tea. It is the only kind I drink."

"Oh," I said. Then, feeling some strange urge to be close to him, share something of his life with him I asked, "May I try it?"

Erik looked surprised. "It is rather strong."

I shrugged. "That is fine."

Erik handed me the teacup and as I took it my hand brushed his, sending an almost electric-like shock up my arm. I stared at him, and saw that he looked as bewildered as I felt. But then, as quickly as it had come, the look passed and he was back to the guarded look.

I lifted the cup and took a hesitant sip. I felt my eyes widen. It was the foulest tasting stuff that I had ever drunk! I set the cup down quickly and stuffed a cookie into my mouth, trying to rid my mouth of the vile aftertaste of the tea.

I looked up at Erik and noticed the corners of his mouth were twitching. His blue eyes twinkled and I realised that he was trying not to laugh at me!

I smiled ruefully. "You are right. It is rather strong," I said weakly.

Erik laughed then, a hearty laugh that sent a little tingle up my spine. I began laughing, too and we laughed until I was wiping tears from my eyes.

"Oh, Christine," Erik said fondly. "What do you say; shall we do one more song before bed?"

I nodded, glad to see that the guarded look was gone from his eyes.

We walked to the organ and he sat down. He began playing and I watched his hands in rapt fascination. His fingers flew along the keys, performing complicated chords. He became totally engrossed in his playing and I began to wonder if he had forgotten me. The piece was beautiful, haunting. When he finished playing I realised I had tears in my eyes. It was amazing to me that he could play a song with such emotion that it could move a person to tears. It was all part of the remarkable power that Erik had when it came to music.

He switched and began playing a song from _Faust_. We sang a couple of songs, not really as if it were a lesson, just singing, relaxing.

When Erik finished playing he stood up and looked at me. "Come, you should get some rest. We only have a couple of days more to practise before you perform again. Christine, I am so proud of you. You have improved so much."

"Thank you, Erik," I said humbly. Considering how talented he was, I took his compliments as the highest praise there was.

He walked with me to my bedroom door. "Good-night, Erik."

"Good-night, Christine," he replied softly as I shut the door.

I leaned back against the shut door, my heart racing. What was happening to me? My emotions were in such a whirl! I was confused by the way I was starting to feel about Erik and at the same time I was so curious about why he wore that mask that it was starting to eat at me. What was he hiding? And was part of my attraction to him simply because he was so mysterious? He seemed so handsome, from what I could see of him. Why did he hide?

I was growing frustrated and I was tired, so I quickly changed and got into bed. I wound the music box and fell asleep listening to it.

xxx

When I awoke the next morning the music box was still playing. I looked at it curiously, and almost as if it had seen me wake it stopped playing.

Strange, I thought. Yet nothing in Erik's world was quite normal.

I changed into a pale pink dress. This one had embroidery of golden thread and pale pink stones on the bodice. It was cut slightly lower at the neckline than the lavender dress of the day before. When I sat at the dressing table to fix my hair I noticed a small porcelain jewelry box. I opened it up and found a gold chain necklace with an ornate pendant set with fiery opals. I fastened the necklace around my neck and the pendant nestled in my collarbone.

My steps were light and I felt strangely happy as I opened the bedroom door. Erik was in his usual spot at the organ. He was busy composing again, wearing a pair of black pants and a loose fitting black shirt. He turned his head slightly to jot something on a piece of parchment and I caught a glimpse of his mask. It seemed in stark contrast to his dark shirt and his dark hair.

Again I felt that insatiable curiosity to see what he was hiding behind that white silk mask.

I crept up behind him, remembering the intense look in his eyes yesterday. That, coupled with the beauty of his voice and the electric feeling of his touch drew me towards him with one thought in mind. To see what he was hiding.

I stepped up on the dais. He still had not noticed me, as engrossed as he was in his music. He was playing furiously again, as he had yesterday after he sent me away. He was jotting down notes and chords, his shoulders taut, his whole body radiating energy, power.

Without stopping to think of what I was doing I reached towards him, but he leaned forward again, out of my reach. I took a step closer, my heart pounding with anticipation. He leaned back again and I reached out once more. This time my fingers caught the edge of the mask, by his jaw. I pulled the mask off as he jerked his head around to look at me.

The first thing I noticed was not his face. It was his eyes, and the myriad of emotions that flooded through them as he stared at me. He was confused at first, and then anger was most prevalent, burning with an intensity that caused me to step backwards, almost falling off the dais. He sat there, staring at me and then his eyes flashed with a horrible look of pain that hit me like a blow. I felt my face drain of color at the look in his eyes.

It was only after that that I actually noticed his face.

It was horrible, that is the only way to describe it. Half of his face was perfect, unmarred and devastatingly handsome. The other was horribly deformed. The translucent skin was pulled taut over the bones, scarred and mutilated. Half of his nose was terribly misshapen. Only his eye was untouched by the deformation. I was horrified when I saw the hurt there, hurt that I had caused.

He stood up and reached for me, looking panicked. I backed up, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I did not know what to think. I had been naive and probably stupid not to have thought that he might be hiding something like this. I had just been so consumed with curiosity that I had not even stopped to think how I might hurt him by ripping off his mask like that. I berated myself for not respecting him, but at the same time I was horrified by how he looked.

"Damn you!" he shouted, his eyes blazing with anger again as he reached for me again. His voice radiated a rage unlike I had ever witnessed. I was still holding his mask but I was so terrified by his fury that all I could think of was getting away from him.

I backed away, stumbling.

"What is wrong with you, you little prying Pandora?" he said harshly. He motioned towards his face. "Is this what you wanted to see? Is it?" he spat. "You little viper, sneaking up on me like that. Have I not treated you well? Well, have I not!" he roared. "I have taught you, tutored you, guided you and this is how you repay me?"

I blanched. Every word he was saying was true, but his anger was so great that I did not dare let him get near me. I was afraid if he caught me he would kill me, he looked that furious. I darted across the room, stumbling.

He followed me, his movements' fluid, agile. "_You_ asked _me_ to come to you. You! It was you who wanted to come to my world, Christine. Now you will stay here!" he snarled, reaching for me again.

Sobbing, I ran. I made it to his throne-like chair before I tripped, sprawling on the ground. I collapsed in a heap. I looked over my shoulder and saw Erik standing several feet away from me. Tears were running down my face.

Erik stared at me. "Damn you!" he said again, his voice cracking and his chest heaving. His sleek hair was mussed and his hands were balled into fists.

I whimpered and suddenly it was as if all the life just fell out of him, and he dropped to his knees. He fell forward, trying to cover the deformed side of his face with his hands.

There was a deathly quiet in the room, broken only by my quiet sobbing and Erik's ragged breathing. I buried my face in my arms, weeping quietly.

"You cannot even bear to look at me," Erik said so quietly that I barely heard him. His voice was tight with emotion. "Why did you have to do it, Christine? Why? You will never be able to think of me as anything but a freak, a monster, now. All I wanted was for you to see that behind the beast is just a man longing for beauty…" his voice trailed off and I glanced up. He was crawling toward me, his one hand covering the side of his face. "You fear me now, and all I wished was that perhaps you could have learned to love me, the man behind the mask…"

He was only a foot away from me now, but he refused to look at me. He buried his face in his arms, hiding the scarred half of his face from my view. His body shook and realised he was sobbing as well. "Oh, Christine."

I stared at him, lying on the floor, vulnerable. It was only then that I noticed I was still clutching his mask in my hand. Guilt washed over me as I fingered the fine satin. I had been so sure he was chasing after me to kill me, but now I wondered if perhaps he was just trying to get his mask. There was a painful knot in my chest and I had never felt so confused. I longed to comfort him, but I did not know how. Not to mention that he probably did not want anything to do with me after what I had just done to him. I felt like a foolish, spoiled child, but part of me was still somewhat horrified by how his face looked. Tears filled my eyes again as I looked at Erik, huddled on the floor. He glanced over at me, his hand covering the scarred half of his face from my view. I tentatively reached out, handing him his mask and he jerked back as if I was reaching out to bite him.

"Here," I said, softly.

Erik looked over at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable. Our eyes met, then he reached out cautiously and took the mask, turning his back on me as he slipped it on. He stood, keeping his back to me for several seconds. When he turned around again his face was blank, his eyes icy.

"Go to your room, Christine," he said, his voice eerily calm after all that had happened.

I looked at him, unsure. I wanted to say something but the words would not come.

"Just go," he said. "Now."

Once more I looked at him and felt fresh tears prickling at my eyes. I scrambled up and put a hand over my mouth and ran to the bedroom. As I slipped into the room I glanced back. Erik was sitting at the organ, his back to me. His shoulders were hunched and I heard a soft, "Oh, Christine…why? Why?"


	6. Prima Donna

I sat at the organ, furiously trying to get the song that had been filling my head since the previous day onto paper. Not wanting to wake Christine I had waited as long as I could before beginning to play, though I had slept very little the night before and was eager to begin.

Music had always fascinated me, from the time I was a small boy. It had been a big part of my upbringing. Though my mother had refused to look at me, refused to touch me, there had always been her singing, which had brought me close to her, despite her desire to be as far away from me as possible. Even when it was obvious that my talent far exceeded hers, I loved to hear her sing and play the piano. The many times that I was in trouble and forced to stay in my room I could still hear her playing and in some strange way it had never failed to comfort me.

I was trying in vain to ignore the thought of Christine in the other room and to concentrate on my score. Engrossed as I was in what I was doing, I never heard her approach. Pity that the organ had not been facing the other way, perhaps she never could have snuck up on me the way she did.

I did not realise what was happening at first. It always took me a moment to bring my focus away from my music when I was playing and as I felt the mask being pulled away I automatically turned around, giving Christine a perfect view of my monstrous face.

I doubt I will ever forget the look of horror on her face as she looked at me, the Angel of Music, unmasked. Her already pale face paled even further. Emotions whirled inside of me as I stared at her. I cannot recall having ever been that angry before, and I been angry plenty of times in my life.

But the betrayal I felt at the callous way she had torn my mask off practically undid me. I was hurt, angry and reacted as such. I tried to grab the mask back, but, terrified, she bolted, dashing across the room to get away from me. I had only one thought in my mind, take my mask back, to cover up my hideous face.

"Damn you!" I shouted. Ranting and raving I chased after her, trying to take the mask. Yes, I was angry at her for what she had done, but most of all I was angry at myself. Angry that I had to be such a loathsome creature, angry that there was no chance of Christine returning my love. But how could an angel like Christine ever love a demon such as myself?

Then she fell in front of my chair. Collapsing on the cold stone floor, she began sobbing.

"Damn you!" I said again, my voice cracking with emotion. I was panting. Christine looked up at me and whimpered, tears streaming down her face. She was obviously completely terrified. The look on her face cut me to the core and I dropped to my knees, a painful knot in my chest. I leaned forward, trying to cover my hideous face so she did not have to look at it anymore.

"You cannot even bear to look at me," I whispered. "Why did you do it, Christine? Why? You will never be able to think of me as anything but a freak, a monster, now. All I wanted was for you to see that behind the beast is just a man longing for beauty…" I crawled towards her, blindly trying to get to my mask, to the safety it provided. "You fear me now, and all I wished was that perhaps you could have learned to love me, the man behind the mask." Immediately I wished I could take the words back. I felt foolish, pathetic.

"Oh, Christine," I whispered appalled to realise that I was crying. I never cried, I had taught myself to hide my emotions from the time I first realised that I was different, a freak, that my mother was disgusted by me. My world was caving in around me, but I could do nothing but stay there, hunched on the floor.

I saw Christine move out of the corner of my eye and I jerked away from her. "Here," she said in her soft, melodic voice. She was holding the mask out to me, I noticed as I glanced over at her. There was silence as we looked at each other, then I cautiously reached my left hand out, trying to cover the right side of my face with my other hand. Christine stretched her arm out and I took the mask. I turned away from her and slipped it on. I stood and took a moment to calm myself before I turned around. She was still huddled on the ground, eyes wide.

"Go to your room," I said, my voice deceptively calm. Still she sat there, looking bewildered and upset. "Just go. _Now_," I repeated harshly.

She hurried to her feet and ran to her room, all too eager to get as far away from me as possible. With a sigh I walked over to the organ. I rested my hands on the back of my chair and my shoulders dropped and my head fell forward in despair. "Why, Christine? Why?" I whispered. Why had she done it? If I had ever thought before that she could ever care for me, that hope was dashed now.

I considered it nothing short of a miracle that the child had not run, screaming from the room to try to return to the outside world. She would not have gotten far, of course, but she did not know that.

It was shock, I decided. She was in shock and therefore unable to think properly.

With a sigh I bent down picked up the scattered sheets of parchment; the score that I had been writing. I glanced at the words I had written and smiled bitterly at the irony.

'Fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see 

_To find the man behind the monster_

_Who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly'_

Slowly I crumpled the piece of paper in my hand. I had never believed the words anyway.

I paced the room, trying to decide what to do. I had been angry enough at first to force her to stay here with me, to pay her back for her deceitfulness. But my anger was dissolving and I was merely tired.

The Opera's new show, to be performed the next Friday was an obscure little opera called _Il Muto_. Christine had been cast as the pageboy, which was a silent role. After her performance in _Hannibal_ one would think it obvious to give her the lead, but when considering the dim-witted men that called themselves the managers, I was not sure it would be that simple. I had to know what was happening, so I left Christine shut in her room and traveled up to the Manager's office and took my place behind the large two-way mirror.

I was incensed when I saw that stupid, arrogant young man, the Vicomte, speaking with Monsieur Andre, who looked anxious. I was beginning to think that was his normal state.

"There is nothing further we can do, Vicomte. I have notified the police, they are looking into it and have found nothing. Now, I have more pressing matters to deal with, if you will pardon me."

"More pressing matters!" the Vicomte shouted. "Christine is missing!"

"Yes, and she may have just run away, for all we know. The police are taking care of it, but either way, we still have a show in a few days and we are currently without a lead. And as I highly doubt we will be able to pull a lead soprano out of our hats, something must be done. I have sent word to Signora Guidicelli, asking her to return for the lead in _Il Muto_."

Fools! I thought, fuming, as I turned to hurry back to my chambers. Idiots! They did not even realise what they had. Christine was a far superior singer than Carlotta, and now they had asked Carlotta to return.

Something had to be done, and it seemed like it was up to the Opera Ghost to take care of things…

X

Night had closed in on Paris as I left the streets and ventured back into the Opera House via the Rue Scribe entrance.

I was returning from having sent the last of four notes I had composed throughout the day. It was not hard to find a willing courier to deliver a letter, even for myself, if enough gold was presented.

Christine had not left her room all day and I had been happy to let her stay there. I had left some tea on a tray outside her door, with some bread and cheese and when I came by again the tray was empty.

I sighed as I came through the archway. I removed my hat, gloves and cloak and collapsed in my throne chair.

Christine would have to go back the next day, after everyone had a chance to receive their notes. After what had happened the day before I had been so angry I had felt like forcing her to stay here, to make her as miserable as I was. But I knew I could not, and would not, do that. I loved her too much for that, even though my love would never be reciprocated. And I could not ruin the career that was just beginning to blossom, the career that I had worked so hard to build.

With another sigh I stood and went into the kitchen to fix something to eat.

My food supply was running low, but it was almost time for my contact to bring supplies. Monsieur Charles Emond, who had worked with me during the building of the Opera house years ago had agreed to work for me after the Opera House was finished, bringing me supplies and other things I requested of him once a month for a hefty salary. He alone knew who I was, but he was sufficiently terrified of me and my reputation and I trusted that he would never betray me.

I fixed a quick meal and was about to call Christine when I heard a noise behind me. I turned to see Christine standing in the doorway. Her face was ashen, her wide eyes red-rimmed. I could not read the expression on her face. I assumed she was still horrified but hunger had forced her to find me.

"Good evening, Christine," I said formally.

She nodded but said nothing.

After I loaded a tray with food I started to walk past her. She scurried out of my way, no doubt she could not bear the thought that I might touch her.

A red hot flash of anger and hurt rushed through me, but I forced it down and set the tray on the table. Christine was standing a few feet away, watching me.

"You can eat in your room if you wish," I said sharply.

Christine shook her head and sat gingerly in the chair across from me.

There was nothing to say, so we ate in silence.

When we finished I gathered the dishes and went into the kitchen. From there I went straight to my room. No doubt she could find her own way back to her room and I had no desire to see the disgust in her eyes again.

X

The next morning I awoke early but stayed holed up in my room. I would take Christine back today and wait for my plan to unfold.

When I entered the main chamber Christine was standing forlornly at the organ. She glanced up at me and gave me a tiny smile, which I did not return.

I set the tea down and poured a cup. She sat across from me and fixed her tea.

"Come, Christine. We must return," I said when she finished. She looked up at me in surprise and, if I was not mistaken, relief. "Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you, and you will need to rehearse for _Il Muto_."

"But my part is the pageboy. It is silent," Christine pointed out.

"Yes, well, things may change," I said with a shrug.

She gave me an assessing look but did not reply. She was wearing her own dress again, evidently she did not want to wear something purchased for her by a monster.

My mood became progressively more foul as I led Christine back to the lake and into the boat. I rowed us back and we walked the five levels back to the mirror in her dressing room. I touch the mechanism that slid the mirror open and all but shoved her through it. She whirled around to face me, mouth open as if to speak, but I triggered the mirror and it slid back into place before she could.

Wondering if anyone had received their notes yet, I made my way to Box Five to leave my last note. As I placed it on the railing I glanced down at the stage. Madame Giry was standing at the edge of the stage, staring up at my box. She gasped and drew back as I stepped forward, making sure she saw my shadow. Then I drew back and disappeared through the hidden door and made my way quickly to the Manager's office mirror. Things were going exactly as I had planned them so far…

Monsieur Andre was seated at the desk, shuffling through a pile of newspapers when I arrived. He picked one up. "_Mystery of the Gala Night_," he read aloud and tossed the paper aside. He picked up another, "_Mystery of Soprano's Flight_. Mystified, we suspect foul play." He slapped the paper down onto the desk. "First Carlotta, now Christine. No lead and every seat sold for Friday. Gossip is certainly worth its weight in gold."

Just then Monsieur Andre burst in, obviously in a bad temper. "Damnable!" he shouted. What are we going to do? This is damnable!"

"Andre, please stop shouting," Firmin said calmly. "Just look at it as free publicity."

"But we have no cast!"

"Everything will be fine, Andre," Firmin said. "But what to do about this?" He held up a letter. "Ah, I see you have one, too."

Andre took the letter Firmin held out and opened it. "Dear Andre. What a charming Gala, Christine was superb. It was hardly a loss when Carlotta left and everyone seemed most impressed by Miss Daae. The chorus was simply entrancing, however the dancing quite needs improvement."

Firmin nodded and held out his letter, "Dear Firmin, just a brief reminder: my salary has not been paid yet. As you know, it is twenty thousand francs. Please leave it in an envelope on the railing of Box Five. No one likes a debtor, so please, do take care of this matter."

The two men looked incensed. "Who would have the gall to write this? I have never heard such nonsense!" said Andre.

"They're both signed 'OG'," Firmin said, studying the letters.

"Who the hell is _that_?" Andre asked exasperatedly.

"_Opera Ghost!"_ Andre and Firmin said simultaneously, identical looks of realization on their faces.

"This is really not funny," said Firmin.

"He is abusing our position," agreed Andre.

"Twenty thousand francs, he must be mad! As if we have that kind of money to throw away!"

There was a quick rap on the door, distracting the two managers. Before they could open the door it flew open and Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagney burst into the room, waving a letter.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Who, Carlotta?" Andre asked.

"I mean Miss Daae. Where is she?" The Vicomte looked alarmed and angry all at once. From behind the mirror I smiled.

"How should we know?" Firmin said, throwing Andre a baffled look.

"I want an answer!" the Vicomte shouted, red in the face. "I assume you sent me this note?"

"What is all this nonsense?" Firmin said, getting progressively more irritated.

"She is not with you, then?" Raoul asked.

"Of course not, we are as in the dark as you are," Firmin said.

"So you did not send me this note?"

"What are you going on about? What note?" Firmin demanded.

Raoul handed Andre the note. "_Do not fear for Miss Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again_," Andre read, looking mystified.

"If you did not write it, who did?" Raoul asked, looking confused.

"Where is he!"

The occupants of the room jumped, startled, as Carlotta Guidicelli burst into the room without knocking. Her face was purple with rage.

"Ah, welcome back, signora!" Andre said trying to calm her.

"Your precious patron, the Vicomte! Where is he?" Carlotta screeched, waving around a piece of paper.

"What is it now?" Raoul asked, aggravated.

"I received your letter!" Carlotta spat. "I do not appreciate it!"

"And did you send it?" Firmin asked Raoul.

"Of course not!"

"You did not send it?" Carlotta asked, her beady eyes narrowing further as she glared at Raoul.

"I have no idea what she is talking about," said Raoul, glaring right back at Carlotta.

"What on earth is going on?" Firmin said.

"You dare try to tell me that it was not you who sent me this letter?" Carlotta demanded, shoving the letter at Raoul, who took it gingerly.

" '_Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. Christine Daae will be performing the lead in the production of _Il Muto._ Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take her place.'_"

There was a moment of silence in the room, and then Andre and Firmin glanced at each other.

Firmin cleared his throat and looked around. He pasted a smile on his face. "Far too many notes for my taste!" he said, obviously trying to smooth things over.

"Yes, and most of them about Miss Daae. All we have heard is her name, and she is no where to be found…"

"Miss Daae has returned."

Everyone in the room whirled around on Madame Giry who had just come in, followed by Meg.

"I trust her midnight oil is well and truly burned," Firmin said dryly.

"Where precisely is she now?" Andre asked.

"I thought it best that she went home," said Madame Giry.

"She needed rest," added Meg.

"I must go see her!" Raoul exclaimed.

"No, Monsieur, she said she will see no one," Giry said firmly. "Here, I have a note."

"Let me see it!" Andre, Raoul and Carlotta shouted, trying to grab the note.

"Please!" Firmin said, snatching it from Giry. He opened it up and began reading. "'_Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theater is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. I have returned Miss Daae to you and I am anxious for her career to progress. In the new production of _'Il Muto'_, you will therefore cast Carlotta as the Pageboy and put Miss Daae in the role of Countess. The role, which Miss Daae will play, calls for charm and appeal. The role of the Pageboy is silent, which makes my casting, in a word, ideal. I will watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, as disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, Gentlemen, your obedient servant, O.G_.'"

"Christine!" Carlotta screeched.

"Oh, whatever next?" Andre groaned.

"This is all just a ploy to help Christine!"

"This is insane," Firmin said.

"I know who sent this! Her lover, the Vicomte!" Carlotta spat, glaring daggers at Raoul.

"Indeed?" Raoul said, raising an eyebrow. "Do you believe this?" he asked of the managers.

"Of course not!" Andre said.

Firmin turned to Carlotta. "This must be a joke."

At that, Carlotta began ranting in rapid-fire Italian. From my vantage point I grinned. This was even better than I had expected.

Andre and Firmin fluttered around Carlotta, trying to calm her, but unable to get a word in edgewise around her ranting.

"Signora!" Andre finally said loud enough to get her attention. "You are our star!"

"This man is mad, Signora," Firmin said. "We do not take orders from anyone, including the Opera Ghost. Miss Daae will be playing the Pageboy-the silent role. Carlotta will be playing the lead."

Mad? I narrowed my eyes. They will not take orders, hmm? We shall see about that, I thought.

Carlotta waved a hand at the two managers. "It is useless trying to appease me! You are only saying this to make me feel better," she moaned melodramatically and continued to moan.

About that time the room erupted as everyone began speaking at once. Firmin and Andre still trying to coddle Carlotta who was still ranting and moaning in broken English and Italian. Madame Giry tossed a look at the mirror behind which I was standing and said, "Beware to those who scorn his words. The Angel hears, the Angel knows."

Raoul was standing apart from the others looking woebegone. "Why did Christine leave me? I must see her, I must speak to her!"

"You have replaced me!" Carlotta moaned loudly.

"Signora, _you_ are our star! Your public needs you!" Andre said, looking lovingly at Carlotta. He elbowed Firmin in the ribs.

"Oh, yes. We need you, too," Firmin said less than enthusiastically.

"Would you not rather have your precious little ingenue?" Carlotta said sarcastically.

"Oh, signora, no! The world wants you! Think of how they all adore you!" Andre exclaimed, taking one of Carlotta's hands and kissing it dramatically.

From behind the mirror I fumed silently at the sudden turn of events. This was _definitely _not going at all the way I had expected.

Andre and Firmin continued cajoling Carlotta, who was looking slightly mollified, puffing up and strutting around, basking in the manager's attention and loving every second of their begging and pleading.

Raoul glanced over at the two managers, looking disgusted. He snatched the letter from Firmin and held it up against the rest of the letters. "Christine spoke of an angel," he said to Madame Giry, who nodded.

"She has heard the voice of the Angel of Music," Giry said.

Carlotta was now touting her own talents while Andre gazed adoringly at her. "Leading ladies are a trial!" Firmin said quietly to Andre while Carlotta was turned the other way. Raoul, Madame Giry and Meg were whispering together.

"Is this ghost an Angel or a madman?" Meg asked of her mother, her eyes wide.

Madame Giry shook her head. "Heaven help those who doubt," she said cryptically.

"Orders! Warnings! Lunatic demands! He must be mad!" Raoul said, his eyes glinting.

"Please say you will sing for us, our _Prima Donna_!" Andre said to Carlotta.

"Think before you reject his demands, you know not what he is capable of!" Madame Giry said ominously.

"I must see that these demands are rejected, Madame," Raoul said, "For Christine's sake. She must be protected!"

Andre and Firmin went aside and began whispering. "Who would believe a diva such as Carlotta would be happy to take over for a chorus girl!" Firmin said.

"Raoul may demur, but I know he was with Christine," Andre added.

From behind the mirror I snorted. These fools. They were making me extremely angry with their prattling.

"I will end _his_ little game," Raoul said to Madame Giry and Meg. "I will be in Box Five and he will play _my_ game by _my_ rules!"

"That is a game you cannot hope to win, Monsieur," Madame Giry warned. "The Angel, he knows…"

"I will sing again!" Carlotta cried triumphantly.

I stood up. I had had enough. "So, it is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!" I shouted. My voice echoed eerily throughout the manager's office. Andre, Firmin, Raoul, Carlotta and Meg Giry looked wildly around, alarmed. Madame Giry, however, stared calmly at the mirror.

Infuriated, I turned away and went back to my chambers. These fools did not understand what they were doing. Madame Giry alone understood that they could not win in a battle of wits against the Opera Ghost. They would learn the error of their ways, however. I would make certain of that!

X

The next two days went by slowly. Christine did not come back to her dressing room. I spent my time watching rehearsals. Carlotta was rehearsing the lead, while Christine was rehearsing the role of the Pageboy. That stupid young man, the Vicomte, hung around the rehearsals, bustling Christine from place to place as if afraid if he left her alone for a moment I would snatch her out from under him again.

I watched Christine carefully. She was continually staring off into space. More than once people speaking to her had to repeat themselves, as she did not hear them talking to her. She was as pale as usual, but quieter. She did not speak to Meg, no matter how many times the girl tried asking her where she had been the days she was missing. She spoke little to the Vicomte, even though he seemed to always be around, following her like a puppy dog.

Carlotta, who had never been pleasant to begin with, was downright venomous and for the first time since I had begun training Christine she allowed Carlotta's goading to bother her. But rather than burst into tears as she had done before, Christine now snapped back at Carlotta. I was proud of her.

The night of the performance of _Il Muto_ was at hand and I had my plan all worked out. Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagney thought he had me where he wanted me. He would soon find out that the Phantom of the Opera plays no one's games but his own!


	7. All I Ask Of You

It was Friday night, the night of the performance of _Il Muto_. I walked into my dressing room with Claudia close at my heels. She had barely left my side for five minutes since I had returned from Erik's lair. I had seen Raoul talking to her and suspected that he had told her to keep an eye on me. It was the first time I had returned to the dressing room since Erik had practically thrown me into it the day he brought me back.

How I had wanted to talk to him! But I could not find the words, not when my feelings were so completely jumbled! I had felt so guilty after I had ripped his mask off. He was right, he had been good to me and I had repaid him by sneaking up on him and unmasking him. Yes, he had come to me under false pretenses. He was not the Angel of Music. But now I knew why he hid in the shadows, why he wore the mask.

But none of this helped me understand my muddled emotions. Part of me felt that I cared for him, more than I could admit, while the spoiled, selfish part of me was still recoiled at the thought of his face.

Then there was Raoul, who seemed to be underfoot every time I turned around. He was sweet and charming, not pressing me for details about where I had been as everyone else did. He brought me flowers and chocolates and begged me nightly to dine with him. I declined, however, not feeling I was fit company in the state I was in.

Carlotta had been in quite a temper since I had returned. Rumor had it that the Opera Ghost had demanded I get the lead in _Il Muto_ and Carlotta the silent role of the Pageboy. The manager's had refused, however, despite talk of a 'disaster' that would occur. So consequently Carlotta was on my case constantly, criticizing every move I made.

My thoughts were constantly with Erik. I thought of our time together, the sound of our voices as we sang. At the most inopportune moments I would remember the intensity of the blue fire in his eyes. I remembered flashes of desire that I had seen, and the terrible hurt and anger after I had removed his mask. The thought of his anger still made me cringe.

I sighed as Claudia bustled me behind the dressing screen and helped me into my costume. When I emerged again I glanced at the mirror, wondering if Erik stood behind it, watching me. Claudia refused to leave me alone, however, so I could not find out if he was there or not.

"It is time, Mademoiselle," Claudia said, breaking my reverie. I nodded and followed her out of the dressing room. I looked over my shoulder at the mirror one last time, wishing I could just hear his voice again.

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I watched Christine from behind the mirror. Her green eyes stared intently at me, though I knew she had no idea whether I was there or not. I could not tell what she was thinking.

Rarely did I feel out of control of my emotions. In fact, I prided myself on being calm and in control. But since I had taken Christine to my world below the Opera House my emotions had been in a constant state of turmoil.

If only she knew how I adored her. I wanted nothing more than to be with her, to know her love. To see those green eyes look at me with love, not fear. To know she loved me, that I did not disgust her.

But I had not lived as long as I had by harbouring false hopes. Since the moment I realised that my Mother wanted nothing to do with me, had only kept me out of some twisted religious fear of God, I knew that I would never find love. I was a freak, a monster. My face had been used to frighten children. The only woman that had ever desired me had desired my mystery, not my self, and she had died as a result of that desire, and I had lost my mentor, the one person who had ever accepted me, as a result. I was a killer, a freak, a monster. I had certainly heard the words enough in my lifetime to know that they were true.

I had resigned myself long ago to being alone, to being always on the outside. To never know love. But Christine Daae had broken through that resolve and shown me that I could, in fact, love.

My grand plan to get her where I wanted her, as the leading lady of the Paris Opera house, was foolproof. After tonight, Christine would be guaranteed the lead. She would be the _Prima Donna_. I smiled grimly as I turned from the mirror and made my way to see if the Vicomte was really foolish enough to sit in my box after my warning.

When I reached the hidden doorway I heard voices.

"Gentlemen, would you care to take your seats? I shall be sitting here, in Box Five," Raoul said.

"Do you really think that wise, Monsieur?" Andre asked, apparently from the Manager's Box.

"My dear Andre!" Raoul said with a laugh, "There would appear to be no seats available other than Box Five!"

Fuming, I stalked through the passageway. I had warned them, and they chose to ignore my warnings. Well, after tonight there would be no doubt what the Phantom was capable of! I made my way to the passageway backstage.

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The production began smoothly. Despite the slight feeling of unease among the performers there were no problems. As my part was rather small, I spent a good deal of time backstage, waiting.

Carlotta, as the Countess, was the largest role and she was onstage most of the time. But if she happened to pass me she would glare at me and mutter in Italian under her breath.

My part finally came. I went onstage dressed as Serafimo, the Pageboy, disguised as a maid. The play went on around me as I pretended to be cleaning. When my part finally came I stood in front of Carlotta, who glared at me briefly before she began singing.

"'Serafimo, away with this pretense!" Carlotta sang. She ripped away the skirt, a little rougher than was necessary, "'You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!"

The whole of my part consisted of pretending to kiss Carlotta, a truly vile thing, in my opinion. I pasted a big grin on my face and enthusiastically pretended to kiss her while she and the chorus continued the song.

Suddenly an eerie voice spoke from somewhere above the stage.

"Did I not instruct that Box Five be left empty?"

The performers gasped and looked around. I looked up, feeling a chill down my spine at the anger I heard in Erik's voice.

"It is him," I said quietly. "I know it, it is him!"

Carlotta's nostrils flared. "Your part is silent, little toad!" she hissed.

"A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is _you _who are the toad," Erik's voice said eerily from the ceiling.

Carlotta glanced around uneasily. Then she nodded to the maestro, "From the opening," she whispered.

"Serafimo, away with this pretense!" Carlotta tried to rip the dress away, but it was already gone. Flustered, she pantomimed taking the dress off. Her face beneath the stage makeup was turning red. "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my _croak!_" There was a collective gasp from the performers and the audience as, instead of singing, there was a tremendous croak. There was a stunned silence. Carlotta put a hand to her throat, disconcerted. She took a deep breath just as an eerie laugh echoed throughout the stage. Carlotta looked around fearfully, but pulled herself together and kept singing. I glanced above me. That laugh…it was enough to make a person's hair stand on end!

"Poor fool he makes me laugh," Carlotta sang, her voice wavering. She opened her mouth to continue the song and began croaking again, sounding for all the world like a giant toad. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open and I had the fleeting thought that she even looked like one before Erik's laugh resonated throughout the entire Opera House. The chandelier began flickering and the audience gasped.

"Behold, she is singing to bring down the chandelier!" Erik cried, his maniacal laugh growing louder and louder as Carlotta burst into tears.

"I cannot go on!" she cried, looking towards the manager's box. Andre and Firmin hurried down to the stage, but Carlotta was already running off stage.

Piangi rushed towards her, "Cara, cara, I am here! Is all right, come with me!"

Andre and Firmin stood in the middle of the stage. I looked around fearfully, expecting to see Erik watching me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes time!" Firmin said with a tight smile. "When the role of the Countess will be sung by Miss Christine Daae," he added, looking up at Box Five. The chandelier returned to normal and Firmin took me firmly by the wrist and led me off stage. I could hear Andre behind us.

"In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be showing the ballet from Act Three of tonight's performance. Maestro, the ballet. Now!"

The chorus girls rushed past us. They looked terrified.

"Come, Miss Daae, we must get you changed so you can finish the performance as the Countess," Firmin said, handing me over to Claudia. We rushed to a dressing room and I slid into the Countess' costume. It was too large, so Claudia quickly took it in.

"Be careful, Mademoiselle," Claudia warned as we hurried back to the stage.

"Be careful?" I repeated.

"That you do not tear out the stitches. They may not hold."

I gave a little sigh. Everything seemed ominous.

As we came to stage left there was quite a commotion. We stood to the side and watched the performance. The girls' were obviously uneasy. They were dancing, keeping one eye on the backdrop behind them. There was a sudden flicker of light behind them and a shadow fell across the backdrop. They immediately fell out of step. They huddled together, staring at the shadow moving behind the backdrop. The music stopped and there was a terrific crash as the backdrop fell to the ground. I screamed, as did everyone else, when a body fell to the floor with a loud thud. I recognised it as Josef Buquet, an old stagehand. A noose made of thin rope hung around his neck.

Pandemonium erupted. The audience, unsure as to what was happening, stood, trying to get a better look. The chorus girls ran, screaming, from the stage. Firmin ran onto the stage while Andre directed the stagehands to drop the curtain.

I backed away from the stage, my eyes glued on the body of Josef Buquet. Erik had killed; he had murdered a man in cold blood! I felt as if I had been drenched in ice water. My hands were shaking and I gasped when I realised that the only reason Erik had to have killed this man was me! To further my career. I began to feel ill and tears filled my eyes. It was my fault that Josef Buquet was dead! I thought about how angry Erik had been when I had pulled off his mask. He had looked angry enough to kill, but I had not thought him capable. Obviously I was wrong.

Strong hands suddenly grasped my shoulders from behind and I screamed and whirled around. It was Raoul, looking frantic.

"Oh Raoul!" I cried, sinking into his embrace.

"Christine, come with me," he said, pulling me backstage.

"No, to the roof! We will be safe there," I said urgently, taking his hand. As we hurried towards to roof access door I could hear Monsieur Firmin shouting above the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats. It was an accident, merely an accident! Please, remain calm! The performance will continue!"

Monsieur Andre caught my arm. "Miss Daae, we must finish the performance. We cannot afford to anger the Phantom any further!"

"Of course," I agreed. Anything so I could get away.

"Do not go far," Andre added as the police arrived.

We slipped through the door and ran the several flights of stairs that led to the roof. My heart was pounding and I felt like at any moment Erik, the Phantom, would find me and drag me down to his lair.

"Christine, why have you brought us here?" Raoul asked as we burst through the door onto the roof.

I glanced around. Every shadow seemed menacing in the darkness of the roof. "Please, Raoul, do not make me go back there!" I said. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

"But we must return," Raoul protested.

"He will kill me! His eyes will find me, those eyes that burn…."

"Do not say that!"

"He has already killed, he will do it again! I will never escape from him! The Phantom will find me," I cried. I kept seeing the lifeless body of Josef Buquet sprawled on the stage, his blank, staring eyes. And it was my fault, all my fault!

I paced along the rooftop. It was snowing lightly and cold, but I barely felt it.

"There is no Phantom of the Opera, Christine," Raoul said, attempting to put his arms around me.

I pulled away from him. "Raoul, I have been there, to his world of unending night. To his home, in the cold and shadows," I said, backing away from him "I have seen him, Raoul, how can I forget his face? I will never escape from that sight," I whispered. "So distorted and deformed…."

I paused and stared into the distance, hearing his voice in my mind. "But his voice! His voice is that of an angel's. And his music, it is…wondrous. When he sings, it is as if I could feel my soul take flight. It holds me, thrills me….I cannot explain it…."

"Christine, what you heard was a dream. The Phantom is merely a myth, nothing more. He is just a man, Christine…"

But I was not listening. "But his eyes are filled with such sadness, sadness like I have never known. Those haunting eyes that both threaten and adore…"

"Oh, Christine, Christine," Raoul said, stepping forward.

"What was that?" I gasped, glancing around as I heard a whisper of sound from behind us.

"Everything will be all right, Christine. I am here now, I will not let anything harm you," Raoul said soothingly.

I glanced up at him. His dark hair was dotted with snowflakes and his dark eyes stared into mine. I shivered and Raoul slipped off his overcoat. "Here," he said softly, wrapping the coat around my shoulders. I pulled it around me, feeling Raoul's warmth. My eyes filled with tears.

"No more talk of darkness and shadows," Raoul said, placing his hands on my shoulders.

I smiled tremulously at him, "Let us just talk of summertime, Raoul, those summers on the beach when we were young and carefree."

He smiled and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Forget your fears, Christine. I am here for you. I will not leave you."

I looked up at Raoul and felt a strange tightening in my chest. My thoughts were scattered, my emotions whirling. Raoul inched closer to me, putting his arms around me. I froze and tried to block out the thought of a pair of burning blue eyes.

Before I knew what was happening, I was wrapped in Raoul's arms, burying my face in his shoulder. My thoughts were with Erik, remembering his expressive eyes, his entrancing voice, and the tidal wave of emotions that he brought out in me. But being with Raoul meant safety, security. I felt a prickle of guilt, but then remembered Josef Buquet's dead body. Erik had killed a man in cold blood, with no thought, merely to manipulate, to show his power. I shivered and Raoul pulled me closer. His warm, strong arms held me tightly, warming me, calming me.

"All I want is freedom," I whispered, pulling back to look into Raoul's eyes. "I want to be free of the night, Raoul. I want you beside me, to hold me and protect me."

A smile spread across Raoul's handsome face. "Oh, Christine!" he said happily. "Do you mean it? Will you stay with me, share your life with me?"

I smiled back at him, "Yes, Raoul," I said. "I will."

Raoul looked at me and ever so gently reached his hand up to caress my cheek. Then he took my chin in his hand and tilted my face up. He leaned down and his lips met mine. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore my growing sense of regret as we kissed.

"Oh, how I love you, Christine! I have loved you for so long! I thought I had lost you. Let me take you away from here, Christine. Come with me to London and get away from all of this. Please, say you will come."

My heart pounded in my chest. I was terribly confused, but the horror of the death I had just witnessed forced all other thoughts out of my mind. "Yes, Raoul, I will come with you!"

Raoul laughed and pulled me into his arms. He swung me around in a wide circle. "We will leave tonight."

I nodded. My only thought was to get away, before Erik could find me.

"I will order my carriage to be at the back door, with my fastest horses. As soon as the performance is over go directly to the carriage and we will leave."

I nodded. "I must go now. They will wonder where I have been if they are continuing the performance," I said. "Wait for me, Raoul. Wherever you go, I will go with you," I said.

"Christine, I love you!" Raoul said, taking my hand as we hurried to the door.

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From above the stage I watched the Vicomte embrace Christine. He tried to pull her backstage, but she would not go. Then I heard her tell him to go to the roof. Anger boiled inside me. She had turned to the Vicomte. Did not she realise I was doing this for her, that it was all for her?

Seething, I turned and ran to the side door that led to the back of the roof. Quickly I walked up the narrow flight of stairs and quietly opened the door that led to the upper part of the roof.

It was snowing, and a layer of white covered the roof. I made my way stealthily across the roof, until I heard voices. I slid behind the statue of _Le Victoire Ailee_ that adorned the roof. Shadows hid me from view as I peered down at Christine and Raoul.

"He will kill me! His eyes will find me, those eyes that burn!" Christine was saying.

"Do not say that," Raoul protested.

"He has already killed, he will do it again! I will never escape from him! The Phantom will find me," she said. I could see her shaking.

"There is no Phantom of the Opera, Christine." Raoul said and tried to embrace her.

She darted away from him. "Raoul, I have been there, to his world of unending night. To his home, in the cold and shadows." I watched her eyes grow wide with fear as she talked of my face. Fury was boiling up inside me. Then, suddenly her face, her voice changed. I thought I detected a trace of longing as she spoke of my voice, how it held her, thrilled her.

Then Raoul was protesting, and I heard a hint of anger in his voice.

""But his eyes are filled with such sadness, sadness like I have never known. Those haunting eyes that both threaten and adore."

"Oh, Christine," I whispered helplessly. My emotions were in turmoil, going from hurt to anger and back again.

"What was that?" Christine whispered, glancing around fearfully.

I watched with growing horror as they talked and Raoul wrapped his arms around her. "No," I whispered. Tears burned my eyes as Christine spoke of freedom from the night, from me. "No," I repeated. My breathing turned ragged and I felt like a dagger was being driven into my heart. The pain froze deep inside of me as Christine looked up at Raoul adoringly and they kissed. She clung to him as if she was drowning and I felt a pain unlike I had ever felt before. I had been locked in a cage as a child, mocked and ridiculed. I had been taunted and feared, simply because of my face. My cursed face. But nothing had ever hurt this badly, watching the only woman I had ever loved pledge her life to another. Another who would never love her the way I did and would never need her as I needed her. I had devoted my life these past months to her, only to her, guiding her, teaching her and helping her reach her potential, and now this! To be denied, betrayed behind my back.

And then, as they made their plans to leave, a wave of absolute fury washed over me, driving away the pain and hurt. I clenched my fists and knew that in that moment, I could have killed Raoul with my bare hands. They disappeared through the door back into the Opera House. I watched them go, talking of their love and it was as if the hurt and the anger simply exploded.

"You will regret this, Christine!" I roared. "You will curse the day you betrayed the Phantom!"

Blind with anger I dashed across the roof, my mind running in circles. I went through the door and made my way above the stage.

Most of the audience still remained. Andre and Firmin had apparently smoothed things over. I had heard his comment to Christine. He was too afraid_ not _to continue the performance, despite the discovery of Buquet's body. I grinned maliciously. At least_ someone_ knew enough to be afraid of me and follow my orders.

_Il Muto_ continued, the performers stumbling over their lines, the dancers hardly able to remember their steps. They were all clearly terrified to be there, but they were even more terrified to _not_ be there. Christine kept glancing around as if expecting another body to drop out of the ceiling.

It was by far the worst performance I had ever seen. Their fear only fed my anger and by the time the performers walked to the front of the stage to take a bow my anger boiled over. With barely a thought of the consequences I began loosening the cable that held the massive gas lit chandelier that hung above the audience. It was an ornate monstrosity, ten feet high and six feet wide, covered in crystals and lit by dozens of gas lights. The thing probably weighed a thousand pounds. The chandelier began to sway and the lights flickered. There was a gasp from the audience and people looked up and began screaming. The performers stood, frozen on the stage, staring up at the swinging chandelier in horror. Christine, standing in front of everyone else, paled. She stared up at the chandelier, transfixed, her mouth slightly opened.

There was a stampede of people as the audience realised something was going wrong. They bolted for the doors, screaming.

Suddenly the chandelier lurched and the lights blinked wildly and went out. I laughed manically. "GO!" I bellowed, my voice reverberating around the theater as the chandelier fell. It crashed into the seats, the glass shattering into a million pieces, flattening the seats beneath it. There was a burst of flames as the gaslights ignited the seats' velvet coverings. Christine, a look of complete terror on her face whirled around and ran for the back door, and Raoul.

I followed her, melting into the shadows as everyone made their way to the front exits. She burst through the door. "Raoul!" she cried.

I slid out the door and hid in the darkness. Raoul stepped out of the black carriage and wrapped his arms around her. "What is it, what happened?" There was screaming and the sounds of police sirens.

"The chandelier! It fell, he made it fall! It-it crashed onto the seats and caught the seats on fire!" she babbled.

Raoul's mouth was open. "The chandelier? Was anyone under it?"

Christine shook her head. "I do not know! I do not think so; they all ran for the exit when it started to swing. Oh, Raoul! He would have killed them all!"

"It is all right now, Christine. I have got you. He will not find you. We will go far away," he said. Raoul kissed her forehead. "Come, let us leave now, while we can."

He helped her into the carriage and climbed in behind her. The door slammed shut and the driver flicked the reins and the horses pulled the carriage away.

I stepped out of the shadows, watching Christine drive away with Raoul. My anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. In its place was an icy feeling of emptiness. The snow was falling harder now and I stood there, alone, in the swirling snow. She was gone. My Christine, my Angel.


	8. A Secret Engagement

I looked up. The chandelier was swinging madly, flickering on and off, casting wild shadows around the Opera House. As I stared at it, it lurched and began to fall. I could see the light reflecting off the crystals in an explosion of rainbows. I was right under it and it was going to land on me, crush me, but I could not move. I was frozen and it was coming closer…

I awoke, screaming. My heart was racing and I was drenched in sweat. A second later there was a tentative knock on the door. A moment later the door opened and a dark-haired maid rushed in and lit the lamp on my bedside table.

"Miss, are you all right?" she asked.

"I am fine, everything is fine," I said, embarrassed. I tried to force a smile but was unable to. The maid stared at me, surely thinking me mad, but I did not care. She gave a little curtsy and left, shutting the door behind her.

I stood and walked to the window and sat down at the window seat. It was raining again, a dull gray drizzle that never seemed to stop. London was a wonderful place in its own right, but I missed France, I missed the Opera. Nearly three months had passed since the fiasco at the Opera House, and yet I still woke to nightmares almost every night.

Sometimes, in the dark of night after I awoke from a nightmare I would think of Erik, and I could practically hear his voice in my mind, that beautiful, entrancing voice.

Four long months I had been with Raoul in London, staying in his guesthouse. For the first month I refused to leave my room. I mourned the loss of my Angel of Music and the closeness we had shared while he had tutored me. I also greatly missed Erik, the man behind the Angel, though I thought it insane that I could miss him, a murderer! I found myself longing to see him, to speak to him once more, though I knew it was crazy. The man was mad, he had killed Josef Buquet and who knew how many more he had killed, if that chandelier had fallen on any of the audience members

Raoul was unfailingly patient with me. No matter how often I cried, he was always there to hold me. Though I never let him know that in part I was crying for Erik…my fallen Angel.

My emotions were no less jumbled than they had been that night on the roof of the Opera House. I had gone over the events of my time with Erik a thousand times, but I was no closer to understanding how I felt for him than I had been to begin with.

I soon tired of staying in my room and began to venture out. Raoul was sweet, charming. He brought me flowers and took me to fancy restaurants. We never spoke of that night, or of Erik. We spoke mostly of the past, our happy childhoods and such trivial matters. I think Raoul assumed that because I was with him, in London, that my thoughts weren't in Paris, with Erik. I soon had even myself believing that I was happy and had forgotten what had happened. We spent another two months in a whirlwind of parties and balls and going to the theater. I thought I was happy, I thought I could make myself be happy with Raoul in London. But the longer I was away from the Opera, the unhappier I became, though Raoul did not seem to notice.

Before long Raoul was pressing me to get engaged. I had begun to feel as if I was living in a dream. It seemed everything was foggy, unfocused. I agreed to get engaged, though I cannot exactly say how it happened. But there was Raoul kneeling in front of me with a diamond ring, proclaiming his love, and asking me to marry him. I must have said yes, though I barely remember, for he slipped the ring on my finger and joyfully announced our engagement to everyone he met.

Our lives were peaceful, quiet. Until just the day before, when a letter arrived from Messieurs Andre and Firmin. Raoul and I were eating breakfast in the formal dining room when the letter arrived. I ripped it open and for the first time in weeks I became excited. No one had died when the chandelier had crashed to the ground, an amazing thing considering that it weighed over a thousand pounds and how far it had fallen. The fire had been quickly controlled with only minor damage. I could not deny the feeling of relief, that Erik had not murdered anyone else.

The Opera House had closed for repairs, but the construction was done now, the new chandelier had been hung and there had not been a word from the Phantom since the night Raoul and I had left. They were currently preparing to audition for the many empty spots in the chorus, as many of the girls had refused to come back after the chandelier. According to Andre and Firmin the police had searched high and low to find the Phantom but had found no trace of him. I shivered, knowing that I could have shown them exactly where to find him in his house beside the underground lake. I had thought that they would never ask me back, but they did. They had a Masquerade Ball planned for October and expected me to be there. Rehearsals would start immediately for the next production, which they hoped to open by December.

"Raoul, they want me to come back!" I said, smiling and handing him the letter.

Raoul glanced over the letter and then looked up, glaring at me. "You cannot actually be planning to go back there!" he exclaimed.

I looked at him. "Of course I am planning to go back. You said we were going back to Paris this month," I said.

"Back to Paris, yes, but not back to the Opera House! Are you mad? After everything that has happened, you would actually think of going back there?"

"My life is there, Raoul. Singing is my life, the Opera is my home!" I protested.

Raoul stood up and threw his napkin on the table. "No, Christine, your home is with me, as is your life. That is what you agreed to when you agreed to marry me."

My jaw dropped. "I never said I was not going back to the Opera."

"I thought you would know better! My God, Christine, you would walk right back into the devil's lair?"

"Perhaps he is not there anymore," I said. "The letter says they have heard nothing of him since we left." I could not exactly explain why that failed to make me happy, either.

"And perhaps he is just waiting for you to come back, did you think of that?" Raoul shouted. "There are other Opera's, you can get a part somewhere else if it is that important to you."

"It _is_ important to me, Raoul," I said, my voice shaking. "I have devoted my life to my career, I do not intend to give it up, and the Paris Opera House is the most prestigious Opera in France."

Raoul gave me a dark look. "We shall see, Christine," he said and turned and stalked out of the room.

I sighed as my thoughts came full circle. The sun was rising and the rain had stopped, leaving the day dull and gray. I felt as if my life were a carousel, constantly going in circles. I had not thought Raoul would act the way he had. I understood his concern, but I did not want to give up the career I had strived so hard for, and I felt a strange yearning to return to the Paris Opera House, despite all that had happened.

X

The carriage traveled quickly up the darkened streets of Paris. Raoul was in a temper. He was seated across from me and he refused to look at me. I had finally gotten my way, after nearly a month of arguing. We were back in Paris, and I was returning to the Opera. The Masquerade was in a month. I had contacted the managers, agreeing to return. There had still been no sign of the Phantom, and they were fully convinced he was either dead or had moved to another Opera House.

The thought gave me mixed feelings. I should have felt relieved, but a part of me was sorry to hear it.

When the carriage had picked us up from the train depot I had asked the driver to take us by the Opera House before it took me to my flat.

"'Ere we are, the Opera House," the driver said, stopping the carriage.

Without looking at Raoul I stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the magnificent Opera House. I felt a familiar thrill as I looked at it and was assaulted by a thousand memories. Erik, the mirror, the underground lake. I had been gone so long!

"Come, Christine," Raoul said from the carriage. "It is rather late."

I took a deep breath of familiar Paris air. It was good to be home.

Stepping back into the carriage, I tried in vain to ignore Raoul's glare.

"You truly are going to go back there, are you not?" It was a statement, not a question, but I answered anyway.

"Yes, I am. You already know that. What has happened has happened. The past is over with, Raoul," I said.

Raoul sighed. "The past is never over with, Christine, not as long as you dwell in it."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, irritated.

He shook his head. "We will be married soon, Christine. Then it will be time to let the past go."

My heart thudded painfully. In the excitement of returning to Paris, to the Opera, I had almost forgotten our engagement. I would be returning to the stage of the Paris Opera House, to Erik's stage. Had he really gone, or was he still there, waiting for me? I looked down at the diamond ring on my left hand. "Raoul, perhaps we shouldn't announce our engagement here, yet."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"I just…I think perhaps it would be better to keep it secret for now. Then, when the time is right, we can make our announcement."

Raoul stared at me incredulously as I took the ring off of my finger and hung it on the chain I wore around my neck.

"What are you hiding from, Christine? It is an engagement, not a crime," he said. His voice had a hard edge to it. "What are you afraid of?"

"Let us not argue anymore, Raoul, please?" I begged. "Please, just pretend to understand."

He sighed angrily. "I only hope I can learn to understand in time, Christine, because I certainly do not understand now."

The carriage pulled up in front of my flat. Raoul helped me carry my bags upstairs.

"Thank you, Raoul," I said, kissing his cheek.

"Oh, Christine. I love you," he said, pulling me into a hug.

I smiled. "And I love you, Raoul," I replied dutifully.

Raoul turned and went back to his carriage. I sighed and looked around my flat, which smelled musty and was covered in dust after having sat so long. Raoul had asked me to stay in his guesthouse when we returned to Paris, but I just wanted to be alone in my own home.

I lit the lamps and walked around the flat, happy to be in familiar surroundings. I ended up in front of the fireplace, standing before a violin on a stand that sat on the mantle. I ran my hands lovingly along the polished wood and felt the familiar pang that came whenever I thought of my father. I still missed him so.

I picked up the violin and sat down on the couch, holding it gently. I wished he were here, that I could talk to him about my confusion. He had been a friend, as well as a father, and I had never felt that close to anyone, before or since.

My thoughts went immediately to Erik, but I refused to think of him now. There would be plenty of time for that later, when I returned to the Opera House.


	9. Masquerade

Four months. It had been four long months since Christine had left with Raoul. I had overheard from those stupid managers that she had gone to London with him.

Since she had left I had spent every waking minute working on my Opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_, and trying not to think of Christine. But she was there with me every minute, haunting me. Over and over I replayed her conversation with Raoul on the rooftop. Her horror when describing my face. The longing in her eyes when she spoke of my voice. The woman was the very study of a contradiction and no matter how hard I tried to forget her I could not.

I knew I still loved her as much as I ever had but my anger with her for her denial, her betrayal, had overtaken the love and I grew to want to see her hurt as badly as I hurt. It did not matter to me that there was no rationale behind it.

The time not spent working on my opera was spent skulking through the secret passageways throughout the Opera. I watched the progress as they rebuilt the seats that had been flattened by the chandelier. Soon the Opera House was back to its former perfection, save for the conspicuous missing chandelier.

I laughed aloud remembering the weeks after the 'tragic accident' as they called it. The Opera swarmed with police, all intent on hunting down the Phantom. Many times as I stood inches away from them I would have to force myself not to laugh. I doubted highly that they could find me even if I stood in front of them waving a torch.

Almost three months to the day after the 'accident' Andre and Firmin returned. I was in the shadows above the stage when they entered. They looked nervous, as they usually did these days. They looked over the new seats and conversed with a thin man with a wiry moustache that was going to install the new chandelier. When they started in the direction of their office I followed them.

From behind the mirror I watched as they shuffled through papers and a stack of mail. They seemed apprehensive and only relaxed when they had gone through the entire pile.

"Ah, still no notes from the Opera Ghost!" Firmin said with a hearty laugh.

"Perhaps he has found a new Opera House to haunt," Andre added.

"It is about time we start a new production. We cannot wait much longer," Firmin said thoughtfully.

"Yes, yes," agreed Andre. "Perhaps a traditional show."

"Yes, but we need to have a party, to celebrate the Opera House re-opening."

"And to celebrate the new chandelier."

"Of course."

So, they thought I had left, I thought. Little did they know I was just biding my time, waiting for the most opportune moment to stage my return.

"Hopefully we hear back from Miss Daae soon, to know if she is to return."

"Mmm," Andre said. "Signora Guidicelli and Signor Piangi have agreed to return, as has most of the chorus. We will have to audition for a few parts. Some of them refused to come back after the chandelier."

Firmin snorted. "I hardly blame them," he said.

"Perhaps a Masquerade Ball. On All Hallows Eve," Andre suggested, brining the conversation back to the party.

Firmin laughed. "A fitting day to return to the Phantom's old haunt. We will announce the new production. We should be able to open by the start of the New Year."

"Indeed. Splendid idea."

I left then, deep in thought. Two months. I had two months to finish my score and plan my grand entrance during the Masquerade. I would have to hurry.

I worked furiously those next weeks, perfecting my Opera and making my plans for the Masquerade. I checked in on the manager's plans every few days and found out that Christine was to return, as I knew she would. She may have left with that idiot, Raoul, but she still belonged to me.

_Don Juan Triumphant_ was finished at last. So many years I had worked on it, and now it was finally complete and I would see it performed on the stage of the Paris Opera House, and Christine, Christine would sing the lead.

The costume I had chosen for the Masquerade was perfect. The Masque of the Red Death. It had taken some doing, but Charles had worked hard to get it completed. It was a magnificent costume and would no doubt be impressive when I showed it off! I smiled grimly as I thought of their faces when they realised that the Phantom of the Opera was far from being gone…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The night of the Masquerade came quickly once I had settled back into life in Paris. Raoul had forbidden me from going to the Opera House before the night of the gala. I had complied, not because Raoul had forbidden me, but because it was easier to not have to think about my feelings as long as I was away from it.

Raoul had agreed to attend the ball with me, as I knew he would. He would never allow me to go alone and I think he was finally figuring out that when it came to the Opera, I was far more stubborn that he had realised.

Our costumes for the Masquerade were simple. We were dressed as dominos, Raoul as a black domino in a black suit with white dots, and I was a white domino with black dots. Our costumes were simple, yet elegant, and we each carried an ornate, jeweled mask on a stick.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Opera House and Raoul and I stepped from the carriage. We walked through the front doors and I felt a rush of excitement. There were so many people, and all of them in ornate costumes. I saw a jester, a butterfly, a monkey. There was something slightly disconcerting seeing all of these people in masks. You could not always tell who was who and I could not help but feel that _anyone_ could be hiding behind those masks…

The first people we ran into were Messieurs Andre and Firmin, who were dressed almost identically as skeletons with long capes.

"Miss Daae! So glad that you returned!" Firmin said jovially. "And Vicomte, wonderful to see you!"

Raoul nodded, "And you, Gentlemen," he said.

We followed Firmin and Andre into the foyer. The grand staircase, which led to the upper seats, was full of people in costume, laughing and talking loudly. Music played and several couples were dancing. Waiters wearing black tuxedo's walked among the guests with trays of champagne and hors'dourves. We each accepted a glass, and walked around, sipping the champagne and greeting old friends.

Carlotta was there, dressed as a bat. I fought back a giggle as I thought how appropriate her costume was! Piangi tailed her, dressed as a Roman.

She saw Raoul and me immediately. Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed and said something in Italian to Piangi and he laughed.

"Ignore them," Raoul whispered as he saw where my gaze was directed.

"Of course," I replied distractedly. I was back at the Opera, back in Erik's world. I had far more on my mind than Carlotta's little games.

Messieurs Andre and Firmin walked up then with Madame Giry and Meg in tow. Madame Giry was the only one around not in costume. She was wearing her traditional black dress, while Meg was wearing a sparkling pink fairy costume.

"Oh, Christine! It is so good to see you!" Meg cried, throwing her arms around me. "I have missed you so!"

"And I have missed you," I told Meg. I could tell she was dying to ask me about the time I had been away, but just then a waiter came up with a tray of champagne, which he passed around and everyone took a glass.

"What a night!" Madame Giry said with a rare smile.

"And what a crowd," said Meg.

"Ah, yes," Andre said. "Six months of peace. No more notes, and no sign of the ghost!"

Firmin laughed. "It _is_ sort of a shame that Phantom fellow isn't here. I dare say he would fit in perfectly!"

There was an uneasy silence and Madame Giry looked at Firmin disapprovingly.

"How about a toast?" Andre said quickly, attempting to smooth things over. "To a prosperous new season!"

"And to the new chandelier!" Firmin added.

As one, everyone raised their glasses, clinked them together and took a drink. One by one the group dispersed until I was left standing with Raoul. Just then the orchestra started a new song and Raoul grinned and pulled me into his arms. "Shall we dance?" he asked.

"Certainly," I replied, trying to ignore my slight feeling of unease. We were immediately swept into the sea of masks and costumes. Within a few minutes a man dressed as a knight cut in and danced a few steps with me. Then a jester, followed by a devil in a red cape. One after another I was swung from partner to partner, barely glancing at the masked face before I was swept off by another partner. I was surrounded by masks, everywhere I looked. I was starting to feel suffocated and dizzy. I was about to try to slip away from the dancing when I was swept into a pair of strong arms. When I looked up I gasped. I was in the arms of a masked highwayman in black with a flowing black cape. The beaded mask covered most of his face and shadows hid his eyes. I tried to pull away from him, but he held me tighter.

"No!" I gasped, but the music had grown louder and louder and no one heard me.

Panicked, I reached up and tore off his mask.

A pair of confused brown eyes stared down at me. It was Peter Dubois, a cast member that had worked at the Opera since before I had even started there. I backed away, embarrassed. But before I could say anything, Raoul had swept me back into his arms, unaware that anything was wrong. My heart was still racing, but I relaxed into the safety of Raoul's embrace.

More people joined the dancing and I soon forgot my foolish fears. Nothing was going to happen, I told myself.

No sooner had I thought that when, during a brief intermission between songs, there was a crack and a flash of light from the top of the main staircase. The crowd fell silent, looking at the top of the stairs, expecting some new kind of entertainment. Smoke obscured the top of the staircase and the guests gathered around the foot of the stairs, whispering, wondering, as I wondered, what the manager's had planned.

I glanced around and saw Andre and Firmin a few feet away. Their faces were white and they were staring up at the smoke with almost identical looks of horror.

My heart skipped a beat as I realised they had nothing to do with this. I took a step back and immediately ran into a masked guest. Raoul looked over at me curiously but his attention went back to the stairs as the there was a loud gasp from the crowd.

A figure, clad entirely in red velvet with a mask in the shape of a horrible death's head was descending the stairs, a flowing hooded red cape swirling behind him. There was an aura of danger surrounding him and the guests that stood along the staircase backed away from him. His footsteps echoed loudly in the now silent room.

I felt my face drain of color as he spoke. His voice was quiet, yet it echoed throughout the room, exuding power.

"Why so silent, good Messieurs?" Erik asked, his voice dripping with venom. "Did you think that I had actually left you for good?"

The crowd parted before him, scattering like pigeons as he strode forward. He stopped a few feet away from the managers, who looked horrified.

"Did you miss me, Messieurs?" Erik asked lightly, almost playfully, but with an undercurrent of danger in his voice. "I have written you an Opera." He pulled a large leather covered book from beneath his arm. He tossed it to Andre, who caught it and looked down at it in dismay.

"It is called _Don Juan Triumphant_, and I expect it to be your next production. I advise you to follow my instructions. They should be easy enough to understand. Remember, there are things that are far worse than a shattered chandelier."

It was deathly silent, all eyes on the Phantom. Andre and Firmin nodded reluctantly. Raoul was gripping my arm, trying to move me behind him. Erik turned suddenly and fixed his gaze upon Raoul and me.

"Christine," he said softly, his voice mesmerizing. He held out a gloved hand and motioned me to him. I stepped forward, shrugging out of Raoul's grip. He tried to grab me, but Andre and Firmin held him back.

I stood in front of Erik, staring up at his masked face. I could see his brilliant blue eyes burning behind his mask. I looked up at him, my emotions churning inside of me. Fear battled with a rush of excitement.

Erik reached out his hand and for a moment I thought he was going to caress my cheek as he had done all those months ago when he had first taken me to his underground lair. Instead he grasped the chain I wore around my neck and pulled out the diamond engagement ring. He stared down at it for a moment. His eyes flashed dangerously and he ripped the necklace from around my neck and held it in his clenched fist.

"Your chains are still mine, Christine," he said softly, his voice calm. "You _will_ sing for me."

He turned and stalked back up the stairs. When he got to the top he turned around to face the stunned crowd. He laughed his manic laugh and raised one hand. There was another flash of light and smoke and when it cleared, he was gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I strode through the passageway, down the five levels to the lake. I still held Christine's necklace in my hand. Even the looks of terror on those silly manager's faces was not enough to make up for the anger and hurt I felt when I realised what that ring meant.

She was engaged, engaged to the Vicomte, that arrogant, foolish _boy_. She would devote her life to him and he would crush her spirit, of that I had no doubt. There was a fire in Christine, a fire that was well hidden, but no doubt existed. I had seen hints of it, but with someone like Raoul, Christine would never grow, never blossom. As for Raoul, a performer would not be a suitable wife for the Vicomte. She would be forced to stay home, hosting parties and playing the part of a proper wife, all the while she would be yearning for the stage.

Seething, I rowed across the lake. This would not do. This would not do at all. If I could just convince her to come back to me, as her teacher, perhaps I could show her that marrying the Vicomte was not right. I could not allow her to marry Raoul, though I harbored no fantasy that she would ever care for me. But, to see talent such as hers thrown away…I could not bear the thought.

Striding through my chambers I removed my heavy Death's Head mask and hat, then sat down at my desk, picked up a feather quill and began composing a note…

X

The next day I had my notes delivered. On my way back from the Rue Scribe entrance I made a detour past the stage to see if Andre and Firmin were around.

They were not, but I bristled when I saw Raoul hurrying after Madame Giry, who was walking backstage. I melted into the shadows behind the curtains and watched them.

"Madame!" Raoul called. "Madame Giry, I must speak with you." He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. She whirled around.

"Please, Monsieur, do not ask me. I know nothing more than anyone else," she said, glancing around uneasily.

"I do not believe that. You know something, Madame."

"I know nothing," she protested. She was clutching her walking stick tightly, her knuckles turning white. "Please, do not ask me."

"Madame, I beg you, for all our sakes," Raoul said, staring at her intently. "How do you get his notes, this Phantom?"

Madame Giry sighed and lowered her voice. "I have seen him, Monsieur. Just a shadow, but I have seen his figure in Box Five. He will just appear there and in a flash he is gone. If he leaves a note, he leaves it on the railing."

Raoul narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "This Phantom is no ghost. He is a man, of flesh and blood. But why is he here?"

There was a pause. "I do know more, Monsieur…" she said slowly, almost reluctantly.

"Please, tell me what you know," Raoul said.

"One night, many years ago, as I left the Opera quite late I ran into a man outside the Rue Scribe entrance. He was nervous, fidgety. I demanded to know what he was doing, where he came from. He had been drinking. He babbled about a man who lived in the Opera House, a genius who had once worked for the Shah of Persia. He said he built a maze of mirrors, and a torture chamber. He was a musician and composer, an architect, a magician and inventor. This drunk man, who called himself Emond, said he had worked with this man and that he was horribly disfigured and stayed in the darkness away from everyone. He said he wore a mask…"

"A mask…" Raoul repeated.

"He would tell me no more, and seemed terrified when he realised how much he had already said. And now, I have said too much. I follow the Phantom's orders, and I suggest you do the same, Monsieur. We have seen what he is capable of. There have been too many accidents"

"Accidents?" Raoul repeated incredulously.

"I must go," Madame Giry said and hurried away. Raoul stood still for another moment before he turned and went the other way.

Stunned, I stayed in the shadows. Madame Giry knew my secret, and now Raoul did as well. I would never have believed Charles could have betrayed me the way he had, but alcohol made people do foolish things.

Well, it was no matter. Phantom, ghost or man, I had Andre and Firmin where I wanted them. Madame Giry had spoken the truth. It was unwise not to follow my orders. I doubted highly that Firmin and Andre would be stupid enough to ignore my instructions again. After all, I might not be as kind a second time.


	10. Twisted Every Way

A week later I stood in my spot behind the manager's office mirror. The orchestra members had been brought in a few days prior to begin practising _Don Juan_ and I watched their rehearsals carefully. They had not brought in the actors and actresses yet. The letters that I had sent out regarding their parts had been received, but I had yet to hear what everyone thought of their roles. The managers had planned a meeting for that afternoon, and though I had not been _officially _invited, I made certain to attend.

Andre was sitting alone at his desk, flipping through the copy of _Don Juan Triumphant_ that I had given him the night of the Masquerade. He looked irritated and as if he had not slept since the Masquerade.

"This is ludicrous!" he grumbled.

Firmin stormed in a minute later.

"Have you seen this score?" Andre asked him pointing at the manuscript. "What are we going to do?"

"This is the final straw, Andre!" Firmin said.

"It is outrageous! We cannot perform this drabble!" said Andre.

"We do not have much of a choice," Firmin pointed out.

Andre groaned. "You are right. We certainly cannot afford another chandelier."

Firmin sighed. "And look what I have," he said, holding out two envelopes.

"Oh, no," Andre moaned, taking his reluctantly. He ripped it open.

"Dear Andre. Regarding my orchestrations: I have been following the rehearsals carefully, and I have a few," he paused. "_Suggestions_. We need to assign a new first bassoon. If you would kindly try to find one with a sense of pitch it would be much appreciated. Also, the third trombone has to go. The man cannot be deafer, so please try to find someone who can at least play in tune," he said, looking highly affronted.

Firmin held up his letter. "Dear Firmin. I have some instructions regarding the chorus. There are a few members who will have to be let go. Please try to find someone with a sense of pitch to replace them. I have managed to assign a rather minor role to those who cannot act."

"How insulting!" said Andre. "He acts as if we know nothing of the theater!"

I laughed silently at that. It was not my fault that the idiots could not tell a Prima Donna from an overpaid toad. They had made it clear that they had no business being in the arts.

There was a knock on the door and Raoul entered. Just seeing his arrogant face made me livid. What did he want? I wondered.

"Ah, Vicomte! Glad you could join us," Firmin said

"I take it you received my correspondence," the Vicomte said.

"Indeed we did. It was very…enlightening," Andre replied.

So, I thought. He had told them what he had learned from Madame Giry. I had figured as much.

"So I take it you agree?" Raoul asked.

The managers looked nervous. "Well, now, I am not so certain…" Firmin said.

"I believe we have no other choice," Raoul added.

What were they talking about? It sounded as if the Vicomte had something in mind. But what?

Before they could continue the office door burst open and Carlotta flew in, her face purple. Piangi hurried after her like a shadow.

Carlotta stormed up to the managers and waved a letter under their noses. "This is an outrage!" she cried. She carried a copy of _Don Juan_ under her arm.

"What is wrong now?" Firmin asked exasperatedly.

"This whole affair! It is an outrage!"

"Signora, please," Firmin said, looking annoyed.

"Now what is wrong?" Andre asked, shaking his head.

"Have you seen the size of my part?" she asked. She waved the book at Andre.

"Signora, please listen…" Andre began.

"This is an insult!" Piangi said, pushing his way forward. He too held his script.

Firmin groaned. "Oh, not you as well."

"Look at this! It is an insult!" he shouted.

Behind the mirror I smiled. It was about time those two were put in their place. If you asked me, it had been a long time coming.

"Signor, Signora, please, try to understand," Firmin said, waving his arms.

"Ooh! The things I have to do for my art!" Carlotta said dramatically.

"That is if you can call this-this _thing_ art!" Piangi said, motioning towards his copy of _Don Juan_.

"Hah!" Carlotta said.

I raised an eyebrow. I held as much store in their opinions as I did those bumbling managers'.

Everyone turned as the door opened again and Christine walked in the room. My heart jumped when I saw her. She was wearing a dark blue dress and she was holding her copy of _Don Juan_. Her face looked drawn and her eyes were puffy.

"Here's our little flower," Carlotta said snidely.

"Miss Daae!" Firmin said as she walked over. "You are quite the lady of the hour!"

"She seems to have gotten the largest role in this _Don Juan_," Andre said to Carlotta and Piangi.

"Christine Daae?" Carlotta repeated disbelievingly. "She does not have the voice!"

"Signora, please," Firmin hissed at Carlotta.

"It is she!" Carlotta fumed. "Christine Daae! She is the one behind this!"

Christine, who had not yet said a word, whirled on Carlotta. "How dare you!" she spat.

"I am no fool!" Carlotta retorted, but she looked slightly taken aback by Christine's vehemence.

"You evil woman! How dare you!" Christine said, her eyes glittering dangerously.

"Do you think I cannot see?"

"This is not my fault! I do not want any part of this!" Christine said. I narrowed my eyes. This was something I had not expected.

"But-but Miss Daae, surely…" Firmin sputtered.

"Why not?" asked Andre.

Piangi, baffled, turned to Carlotta. "What is she saying?"

"Well, it is your decision. But why not?"

"She is backing out!" Carlotta said to Piangi.

"But, you have a duty!" Andre protested.

"I cannot sing it, duty or not," Christine said, her eyes wide.

Raoul stepped forward and put his arms around Christine and I bristled.

"Christine, they cannot make you. You do not have to do it," Raoul said comfortingly.

Madame Giry and Meg joined the crowd in the manager's office next. Madame Giry was holding my latest note. "Please, Monsieur: I have another note."

Everyone in the room, save for Christine, groaned as Madame Giry pulled the letter out of the envelope and began reading. "Fondest greetings to you all! Just a few instructions before rehearsals start. Signora Carlotta must be taught to act if she wishes to secure _any_ part in my production. Her normal way of strutting around the stage will not do."

Carlotta's face reddened and her eyes widened with indignation. "Well!" she said.

Madame Giry continued. "Our Don Juan must lose some weight in order to play the part; in any case it is not healthy in a man of Piangi's age."

Piangi looked slightly befuddled at first, then, as my meaning sunk in, he was indignant.

"And my manager's must learn that their place is in the office not the arts. As for Miss Christine Daae, doubtless she will do her best. Her voice is good and her talent vast. But should she wish to excel, she must realise she still has much to learn, if pride will let her return to me…her teacher. Your obedient friend and Angel."

A hush fell over the office. The occupants looked around at each other uneasily, save for Christine, who backed up and stood apart from the others. Her face was white and she stared into the distance, her expression unreadable. She clutched the _Don Juan_ script tightly in front of her and she was trembling.

Suddenly Raoul began scratching his chin. "Messieurs," he said, addressing Andre and Firmin. "About my idea…"

"Ah, yes," Andre said. "You wish to set a trap. But how do you trap a Phantom?"

"He is just a man," Raoul said scornfully. "And all men have their weaknesses."

"Go on," Andre said. "We are listening."

"We have all been blind. The answer has been in front of us all along. This is our chance. We shall play his game, perform his Opera. But remember we hold the ace, Messieurs. If Miss Daae sings, it is certain he will be there."

Firmin's face brightened with enlightenment. "We bar the doors, bring in guards."

"We make certain they are armed, and when the curtain falls, his reign will end," Raoul said, his eyes glinting.

I listened to their pathetic little plan with a grin. So this was Raoul, Vicomte de Chagney's grand idea. For heaven's sake, one would have thought they would have learned! I thought, shaking my head.

Madame Giry was the first to react. "This is madness!"

"Not if it works, Madame," Firmin said.

"The tide will turn!" said Andre.

"Monsieur believe me, there is no way to turn the tide," she said, her hands shaking as she held her walking stick.

"You stick to ballet, if all you are going to do is give us dire warnings," Firmin said.

Raoul whirled around on Madame Giry. "Then help us!"

"Monsieur, I cannot," Madame Giry said, shaking her head. Meg stood behind her, wide-eyed.

"Could it be that you are on his side?" Raoul asked.

"Of course not," Madame Giry snapped. "I mean no ill will, but Messieurs, we know what he is capable of. We have seen him kill, or have you forgotten Josef Buquet?"

Silence greeted her words, then the office erupted.

"Christine is behind this madness!" Carlotta shouted. "This is all her doing!"

"This so-called angel _will_ fall," Raoul said.

"Hear my warning! You must fear his fury!" Madame Giry said.

"If this plan succeeds we will be free of this Phantom!" Andre said to Raoul.

Carlotta turned to Piangi. "What glory does she think she will achieve? She is obviously insane!"

"She is crazy!" Piangi agreed.

"If Christine will sing, we will surely catch him," Firmin said to Andre.

"This dark angel can say his prayers," Raoul said triumphantly.

Suddenly Christine spoke, her voice quiet. "Please stop…" she said in vain.

"Monsieur, I beg you, do not do this!" Madame Giry pleaded with Raoul.

"We will win, Madame, be certain of that," Raoul replied.

"If you do not stop this I will go mad!" Christine shrieked, her voice cutting through the din and silencing the occupants of the room. She threw her script to the ground and they turned to stare at her. Her eyes were wide with an almost wild look in them. She stood, staring at them, her breath coming in heaving gasps. Then she collapsed against Raoul, who held her up. "Raoul, I am frightened, please do not make me do this! Raoul, I am scared. What if he comes for me again? He may never let me go, and he is already always there, singing songs in my head…"

"She is mad!" Carlotta breathed, staring at Christine.

"You said yourself that he is just a man, and yet while he lives we will never be free of him," Raoul said, taking Christine's hands.

Christine turned from him, her lips pressed together. She stared at the mirror and took a deep breath.

"Twisted every way," she whispered, as if speaking to herself. "What answer can I give? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Will I become his prey? He has killed without a thought, will he murder me as well?"

I watched her carefully. Her expression showed many emotions. Fear and hope and despair. "I cannot refuse him…"

I narrowed my eyes as Raoul walked over to her and put his arms around her. What did she mean by her words? "Oh, Christine, do not think I do not care. But every hope and prayer for this trap to work rests on you."

Christine put her hands to her mouth. "I cannot," she whispered, shaking her head. "I cannot do it." She burst into tears and ran out of the room.

Raoul watched her go and a look of anger crossed his face. "And so, it is to be war between us," he said, looking around the room, apparently addressing me. "But his time, the disaster will be yours!"

That is what you think, Vicomte, I thought angrily. He thought guards could stop me? He thought locking the doors would keep me from escaping? The boy was playing with fire. A dangerous game to play with someone who had spent a lifetime in Hell.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I stood in the centre of the manager's office, listening to everyone shouting at once. My emotions were in a whirl as Raoul spoke of trapping the Phantom, Erik. All the while I was remembering him. Remembering the gentle way he tutored me, the beautiful dresses that had to have been made just for me. I remembered his laughing blue eyes as I tasted his awful tea. I remembered those same eyes burning with desire and than blazing with anger after I removed his mask.

Fire and ice. My Angel of Music that dwelled in the shadows. How easy it was, thinking of him, remembering him, until the memory of Josef Buquet invaded my thoughts. I remembered the chandelier as it crashed to the ground. I remembered his deadly voice at the Masquerade.

"Please stop," I whispered. They continued their shouting until I could not take any more.

"If you do not stop I will go mad!" I cried, my voice shrill. I collapsed against Raoul, my emotions overpowering me. "Raoul, I am frightened, please do not make me do this! Raoul, I am scared. What if he comes for me again? He may never let me go, and he is already always there, singing songs in my head…" I said the words before I thought of how they would sound.

"She is mad!" Carlotta said, backing away from me slightly.

Raoul took my hands in his. "You said yourself that he is just a man, and yet while he lives we will never be free of him."

I turned from him and faced the mirror. My fear of Erik, of what he was capable of battled with my longing for my Angel of Music. "Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Will I become his prey? Do I have a choice? He has killed without a thought, will he murder me as well?" I whispered. I remembered his words at the Masquerade. 'Your chains are still mine, Christine. You will sing for me.' I stared at my pale reflection. "I cannot refuse him."

I sensed Raoul's anger and confusion even as he tried to hide it. "Oh, Christine, do not think I do not care. But every hope and prayer for this trap to work rests on you."

"I cannot. I cannot do it!" I said and the tears that I fought spilled as I ran from the room.

I kept running, not caring where I went as long as I got away. As I left the room I heard Raoul saying something, but I ignored him and kept running, tears stinging my eyes. What they wanted to do would surely mean Erik's death, if their plan worked. I could not be part of it, I just could not!

Without thinking of the repercussions of my actions I ran to my dressing room and locked the door. I collapsed on the floor in front of Erik's mirror, sobbing. I had never felt so alone. I was starting to think that perhaps Carlotta was right. Perhaps I had already gone mad. What other explanation was there that I felt the way I did? Raoul loved me, wanted to marry me. He was handsome, sweet and charming, everything a woman could possibly want in a husband, and yet it was not his voice I heard in my dreams. It made no sense!

"Christine."

I looked up at the sound of his voice, my heart skipping a beat. "E-Erik?"

"Yes, child, I am here."

"What do you want?" I asked, sniffling.

There was a pause. "I would like to continue our lessons," he said, his voice flat.

"You-you would still teach me?"

"I want you to excel, Christine. I will teach you if that is what you wish."

I took a deep breath. "I do," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

As I watched my reflection in the mirror it grew hazy and a moment later the glass slid sideways. Erik stood, outlined in the frame of the mirror. He wore a hooded black cloak that threw his face into shadows. He held a lantern in one hand.

"Come, Christine. Sing once again with me," he said. His voice was no less mesmerizing than usual, but it seemed strangely expressionless.

I stood, expecting Erik to hold out his hand. He did not. He merely stepped aside and motioned me to follow. I stepped through the mirror, and he touched a little lever to my left and the glass slid back into place. He turned with a flash of his cloak and began walking down the passageway. I hurried to catch up.

He did not say another word as we walked. When we reached the boat he hung the lantern on the front and stood, waiting for me to get in. I waited for him to help me, but he just stood with his arms folded. Awkwardly I scrambled in, trying not to fall. He stepped lithely in after me, still silent.

I sat in the boat, glancing back at Erik every few minutes as he calmly rowed the boat across the lake. The only sound was the splash of his pole in the water. I inched forward until I was practically sitting in the water. His very silence frightened me almost as much as the angry voice he had used at the Masquerade.

I turned my attention to the front of the boat. I reached down and trailed my fingers in the water. It was inky black and ice cold and I shivered.

My heart was racing by the time he poled the boat to the dock on the other side of the lake. He jumped out and tied the boat up. He began walking to his chambers, leaving me to try to get out of the boat on my own without tipping it over. I hurried after him.

When I entered the main chamber he was tossing his cloak onto his chair. His face, behind the mask, was unreadable. He walked to the organ and sat down. I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, wondering what he was thinking.

"Shall we begin?" he said finally, raising his eyebrow.

I swallowed, my mouth dry, and went to stand by the organ. He had a copy of _Don Juan_ and he handed it to me.

We ran through some scales before we started with the Opera. There was a tension in the air that made it hard for me to concentrate of the music, and my voice, unused for the past six months, was terrible.

Erik made a tsk-tsk noise as I attempted the first solo that I would sing as Aminta. "You have not been practising," he said. I sensed his sarcasm and tried to ignore it. I had no doubt that he knew where I had been and who I had been with the past six months. The man seemed to know _everything_ that went on.

We practised for what seemed like days. Over and over I sang, and each time Erik found fault with my performance.

"Christine," he said finally, exasperated. "You must _feel_ the words you are singing."

I bristled. "Feel the words," I repeated. "How do you expect me to feel words of a song like this? It is-it is indecent! The whole thing is indecent!"

Erik stared at me, then slowly shook his head. "Are you an artist or not?"

"Of course I am!"

"Then you must learn to sing without judging what you are singing. Your job is to perform, not criticize."

I remembered suddenly that it was his Opera I was insulting and felt my face redden. I sighed and we continued.

When Erik finally stood and took the Don Juan script from me I was exhausted.

"Come, I will take you back to your dressing room," Erik said. He had not complimented my singing once and I was hurt.

"I-I thought I would just stay here. There will not be rehearsals until Monday," I said. "We can practise more tomorrow."

Surprise flickered across Erik's face, and was quickly gone, leaving him expressionless again.

"If that is what you wish," he said formally.

Frustrated I turned and went to my room and slammed the door. I did not understand a thing. He was being so cold! The way he was acting frightened me. He seemed so unpredictable. I shook my head, inwardly cursing my muddled feelings. I was engaged to Raoul, and yet here I was, with Erik, who was acting as though I was nothing more than a spoiled chorus girl. Who knows, perhaps that is all that I was to him.

A little while later there was a knock at my door. I stood up and opened the door a crack. Erik was standing with a tray.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said.

I swung the door open but before I could step out he handed me the tray and walked off. I stood in the doorway of my room, holding the tray, my mouth open. Erik walked across the room and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. I clenched my jaw and shut the door.

I was beginning to think that I had completely misunderstood Erik. I thought about those flashes of desire I had thought I had seen in his eyes before. I was beginning to believe that I had been mistaken.

The next morning when I opened my bedroom door Erik was seated at the table with a tray of tea and a plate of pastries.

"Good morning, Erik," I said.

"Good morning, child," he said.

I do not know why, but something about the way he said it angered me. I gave him a dark look as I sat down and poured myself a cup of tea. If he saw my look he ignored it.

We finished eating and Erik took the tray to the kitchen. When he returned he went directly to the organ. I followed him and stood beside him at the organ. We began with the same solo as the day before. I was still upset and, if anything, my singing was worse than it had been the day before. I could sense Erik's frustration with me.

After we had gone over one line about twenty times Erik sighed and looked at me. "Christine. You must concentrate."

"I am trying!" I said. "I just…I cannot…"

He sighed again. "Perhaps a different song, then." He flipped through the pages of the script and settled on a song. "Shall we try this one?"

Another solo, Aminta singing of the way Don Juan had deceived her.

"_How can trust the words he says_

_how can I hope to know_

_his love is true, not just a farce_

_when all was built on lies_…"

I sang the words and felt my confusion and doubt pour into my voice. Erik watched me as I sang, his eyes burning into me.

"Much better, Christine," he said when I finished. It was nothing like his normal compliments, but considering how awful I had been singing I was happy with even just that.

We practised most of the day, and Erik complimented me very little. He was cold and aloof, nothing like the gentle, fatherly Angel of Music I had come to know the months he was tutoring me. But neither was he the angry, malevolent Phantom that had killed Josef Buquet and ruthlessly dropped the chandelier at _Il Muto_.

When he was finished with the lessons, he stood up and firmly dismissed me back to my room with a curt, "Supper will be at seven," as he left the room.

Back in the bedroom I stared at my reflection in the mirror as if it could give me some answers. My pale, peaked face stared back at me and I realised with a jolt that I had not thought of Raoul once. I firmly pushed down the guilt that was creeping up on me. Surely by now Raoul had tried to find me, had most likely been to my flat to look for me. No doubt he wondered where I was. The alarming thing was, I was not certain I cared….


	11. The Music of the Night

I stalked back to my room, all too eager to get away from Christine. My anger and frustration was about to consume me. For the life of me I could not figure out what was going through the girl's mind. One minute she seemed terrified, disgusted by me. The next she was belligerent, insulting my Opera.

I still could not figure out why she had run to her dressing room, of all the places she could have gone. She had to have thought I might be there. Or had she? Or was she _hoping_ I would be there? Was this perhaps part of Raoul's scheme, something they had planned before she had ever gone to the meeting with the managers? I did not like thinking that, but it made as much, if not more sense, than if she had come to me willingly.

I sighed as I paced around my room. I had meant what I said to the managers. I wanted to continue my lessons with Christine. Even though she would never love me, I wanted to at least be near her, sing with her. She needed to see that marrying the Vicomte was a mistake, that her place was at the Opera. She thought she loved the boy, but he was not good enough for her. She deserved someone who would cherish her, adore her. She deserved someone who would appreciate her talents and support her career, not an ignorant boy who would look at her as merely a pretty face, a trophy to be displayed.

I did not know what to think of Christine, what to believe her motives were. It was hard for me to believe her capable of such deception as to be part of a plot with Raoul, a plot that, if they succeeded would mean my death. But my life had not taught me to be a trusting sort.

Unable to stay in my chambers any longer, I escaped to the roof of the Opera. What had once been my retreat, a place of solitude and silence, was now a source of bitter memories. I could not look at the statue of _Le Victoire Ailee_ without remembering Christine and Raoul, planning their escape.

The air was crisp with a hint of autumn. I stood in the centre of the roof, staring up at the sky, at the moon and stars, my cloak swirling around me in the light breeze. I rarely gave the heavens much thought; I had given up believing in God a good many years ago. An Angel of Darkness had little use dwelling on Heaven. Night was my world. In darkness I could find peace, blending in with the shadows. I had dwelled so long in the dark that I had almost forgotten what the day was like. It had been a great many years since I had felt the warmth of the sun on my face.

From high above the streets of Paris I watched as buggies made their way along the streets. People bustled about, going about their lives, following their routines that they no doubt grew tired of, living lives of normalcy that they took for granted. What would I have given to live their dull lives?

I sighed. I could sit here forever wishing I had not been born with my hideous face, but I knew it did me no good. Christine, Christine, the only woman I had ever loved. She was so beautiful. How could I have ever been foolish enough to think she could ever love me, especially with a suitor like Raoul?

Unbidden, I remembered their embrace, their kiss. How young and innocent and full of love and dreams they were. I punished myself with thoughts of Christine, a beautiful young woman, in the arms of her handsome young suitor. They made such a perfect couple. Jealousy, bitter and ugly, churned inside of me and I clenched my fists.

I took a deep breath and looked out at the sparkling lights of the city. Far from clearing my mind, this visit to the roof had only served to stir up my emotions further. And Christine was down below in the bedroom I had designed and decorated just for her. What was she thinking, asking to stay with me in my dungeon? As much as I wanted to think there was meaning behind her actions other than to continue our lessons, I simply did not believe it. And if she was not there simply to continue our lessons, then she was in some kind of conspiracy with the Vicomte.

Knowing that I was unlikely to understand the workings of Christine's mind, I looked one last time at the city before I made my way back down to my lair.

I arrived at the far side of the lake and walked to the archway that led to my chambers. I activated the hidden switch that lifted the heavy wrought iron gate that barred entrance into my home. It creaked up and I walked through. I went straight to the kitchen to fix supper. By the time it was ready Christine had appeared in the doorway and was watching me silently.

I eyed her coolly. I had all but convinced myself that Christine and Raoul had a secret plan. I half expected the Vicomte to come rushing to the gate at any moment, determined to rid the Opera House of the Phantom once and for all. Then Christine would be free to marry Raoul.

My dark thoughts continued while we ate. Christine was quiet and withdrawn, retreating to her bedroom almost as soon as she had finished her supper.

After I cleaned up I went to the organ. I began playing and dove into the solace that was my music. I closed my eyes and poured my emotions into the music, reprising the words of _The Music of the Night_ as I sang.

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness wakes and stirs imagination_

_Silently the senses, abandon their defenses_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write_

_For I compose the music of the night_

_Slowly gently, night unfurls its splendour_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

_Hearing is believing, music is deceiving_

_Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight_

_Dare you trust the music of the night?_

_Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth_

_And the truth isn't what you want to see_

_In the dark it is easy to pretend_

_That the truth is what it ought to be_

_Softly, deftly music shall caress you_

_Fear it, feel it secretly possess you_

_Open up your mind let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness which you know you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the music of the night_

_Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before_

_Close your eyes and let music set you free!_

_Only then, will you belong to me_

_You alone can make my song take flight_

_Help me make the music of the night."_

The music seemed to wrap itself around me like an embrace, calming, comforting. I opened my eyes and turned. Christine was standing, wearing a frilly nightgown, watching me. Her eyes were wide and a lone tear slid down her cheek. Our eyes locked and for several moments all was silent. My heartbeat sounded unusually loud as it pounded in my ears.

"Erik…" she whispered, her expression open, wondering.

Frozen, I just looked at her, unable to make a sound. How I wanted to sweep her into my arms and hold her. Wipe away her tears and comfort her. I felt my defenses crumbling and I felt helpless to stop it. She seemed so young, so innocent, standing there in her nightgown and bare feet.

And then, in a flash, I remembered the ring, Raoul's ring that I had ripped off of her neck at the Masquerade. The ring that I kept in my pocket to remind me of her deceit.

An icy feeling washed over me. I did not know what game she was playing with me, but I was not about to let down my guard, not at this early stage in the game. To do so could quite possibly mean my defeat, and I did not take well to losing.

I stood, and her eyes followed me. My eyes narrowed and I took a deep breath. "Go to bed, Christine," I said harshly.

Her expression faltered. "What?"

"I said, go to bed."

"But…"

"Just go, Christine. Before I do something I will surely regret," I said between clenched teeth. I cursed my out-of-control emotions.

"You would never hurt me, Erik," Christine said. Her words were bold, but her voice wavered.

"You do not know what I can do," I said. Inwardly I realised that threatening her was probably not the best way to get her to trust me, but I was just so angry!

She gave me one last, searching look before she escaped to her room. The bang of the door slamming shut echoed through the room and I sighed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The man was infuriating, simply infuriating! I sat in the middle of the bed, incensed. I did not understand anything. I did not understand what had happened, why Erik seemed to hate me now. I had come back to him, I had obeyed his wishes and returned for more lessons, and now it was as if he could barely stand the sight of me.

Angry, hurt tears stung my eyes and I tried to force them back. It was to no avail, and soon I was sobbing. What was I doing? I had thought, but it was foolish for me to have thought it, that Erik cared for me. Maybe even…loved me. But who was I kidding? The man was elegant, graceful, charming, and his voice was an angels'. Why would he ever be interested in a _child_ such as me? He obviously saw me as a foolish little girl, and he was probably right. I was engaged to Raoul but here I was with Erik. I loved Raoul, my childhood sweetheart. Or did I? If I loved him, then why did I dream of a seductive darkness, why did I hear Erik's voice in my dreams? Why had I returned to him, and his darkness, rather than stay with Raoul and the safety of the day?

But how could I love Erik? He was a murderer. He had murdered Josef Buquet, and there was a danger in him that led me to believe that that was not the first time he had killed. Who knew what else he had done? And his face…Did I care for him out of pity? I dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. It most definitely was not pity.

I tossed and turned for hours, but I eventually fell into a light, restless slumber. When I woke the next morning I realised that I would have to return aboveground. Rehearsals would begin that afternoon, and I could not miss them.

After I had dressed I opened up the door and peered out. Erik was standing in front of the fireplace, which had a fire lit in it, the first time I had seen it being used. I crept over and stood beside him. He was staring into flames and I did not think he noticed me. But without looking up he said, "Good morning, my dear." He said the endearment casually, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

We ate a quick breakfast and as we were finishing Erik said, "I must get you back upstairs so you do not miss rehearsals."

We were on our way a few moments later. As Erik steered us across the lake I thought about what a cold, dark life he lived, always dwelling in the shadows.

I studied him as he guided the boat, pushing us smoothly across the water. He was in his usual black, wearing the same black fedora he wore the night he had first brought me to his world in the heart of the labyrinth beneath the Opera House. His fine silk lined wool cloak swirled seductively around his legs. He was singing softly, the same song as he had sung last night. His voice wrapped around me like an embrace. As it had the night before, the song, the words seemed to cut straight into my very soul.

"Only then will you belong to me…" 

I shivered and noticed that he was watching me. His expression was lost in the shadows, but I could practically feel the heat from his gaze. I was overwhelmed by the power that his voice held over me. Flushing, I looked down at my hands, but I could still feel his gaze upon me.

It was a silent journey from the lake to my dressing room. When we finally stopped behind the mirror Erik opened the mirror and motioned me through.

"Erik, will you-can we continue our lessons?" I asked as he was about to close the mirror.

"Of course, child."

"I can come when rehearsals are done," I suggested.

"Certainly. I will come for you," he replied. His voice was flat, his eyes strangely blank. How I wished I knew what he was thinking!

Without another word he turned and disappeared as the mirror slid shut. I took a deep breath and sat at my dressing table. I did not have much time before rehearsals started, but I could not bear the thought of going there yet.

I jumped, startled, when the door to my dressing room flew open and Raoul stormed through, his face red.

"Christine! Where have you been?" he shouted as he stood in front of me.

I stared at him. "What do you mean?" I asked, stalling for time and trying to figure out how much he knew.

"What do I mean? God, Christine, do you think I am dense? You walked out of the meeting with the managers and I do not see you again for two days and you wonder what I mean? I went to your flat, Christine."

My mind worked frantically. "I know you did," I said. "I just did not feel up to talking, so I did not answer the door."

Raoul's eyes bugged as he gaped at me. "I am your fiancé!"

"I know that, Raoul," I said testily. I wondered if Erik had left and I hoped he was not standing behind the mirror listening.

Raoul sighed loudly. "Christine, we are going to go through with this plot whether you agree to help or not."

"I assumed you would," I replied coolly.

"You do know that if you refuse to sing Messieurs Andre and Firmin may well drop your contract," Raoul stated.

My eyes widened. "They cannot do that!"

"They can and they will, Christine. They want to be rid of that monster. You cannot blame them! They cannot afford any more 'accidents'. Do you really want to see more people ending up dead, like Josef Buquet?"

My heart dropped at the stagehand's name. It was easy for me to forget about that when I was with Erik, but reality remained that Erik was a cold blooded killer and here I was, defending him.

But even at that, I knew I could never be part of a plot that could end in his death. At the same time, I could not afford to lose my contract with the Paris Opera.

"I will be singing, Raoul, but I will not be part of your plan," I said.

Raoul stared incredulously at me. "What in God's name is the matter with you, Christine? Why do you defend him? What kind of power does he have over you?"

Silence filled the room as Raoul and I glared at each other. "Please leave, Raoul," I said finally.

"Christine, I am sorry," he said, deflating. "I just-I love you, Christine, and I do not want to see you hurt."

I sighed. "I know, Raoul."

He watched me for a minute longer before he turned and walked out of the room, shutting the dressing room door firmly behind him.

I let out a deep, shuddering sigh as I stared at the door. My life was falling apart in front of my eyes, and I felt helpless to do anything but stand by and watch.


	12. Rehearsals

Rehearsals were already underway by the time I had composed myself and made my way to the stage.

Construction workers were busy building the sets backstage, and I knew the seamstresses were hard at work on the costumes. Everything had to be done by opening night, which was set for New Years Eve.

I hurried in and slid into an empty seat in next to Meg, who had been cast in quite a larger role than she was used to. Signor Piangi sat on my other side. Madame Giry was standing off to the side, observing, her face grim. My eyes flickered to Box Five, which seemed empty, but I was fairly certain that Erik was somewhere around, watching. Meg grabbed my hand and gave it a little squeeze and I smiled warmly at her.

Piangi, who had been cast as Don Juan, was having trouble with his lines, it seemed. The chorus stood behind us, while the main characters, Piangi, Carlotta, Meg and Monsieur Dubois, who played Passarino, and I sat in front of them. Monsieur Reyer was standing by the piano with his open _Don Juan_ book. He looked extremely frustrated, as did Signor Piangi.

"Once more," Reyer said, hitting a key on the piano.

"_Those who will taaangle with Don Juan_!" Piangi sang gustily.

"No, no, no. Nearly, but _no_!" Reyer said. There was a collective groan from the chorus. "Chorus, rest. Signor Piangi, the line is '_those who will tangle with Don Juan'_."

"That is what I said!" Piangi protested. "Those _who will taaangle with Don Juan," _he repeated, exactly the same as before.

"His way is better," Carlotta said spitefully. "At least his way makes it sound like music!"

"Signora!" Madame Giry said, rapping her walking stick on the stage floor. "Would you speak that way in front of the composer?"

"The _composer_ is not here," Carlotta spat. "And if he _were_ here, I would…"

"Can you be so sure?" Madame Giry interrupted, loudly enough for everyone to look over and stop talking.

Carlotta stared at her, then looked around uneasily.

"So, once again on seven: five, six, seven…" Reyer said.

"_Those who will taaaangle with Don Juan!"_ Piangi sang, still wrong.

"What does it matter, what notes we sing?" Carlotta snapped. "No one will know if it is right or if it is wrong. No one will _care_ if it is right or if it is wrong!"

"_Those who will taaaaangle with Don Juan!"_ Piangi sang again, sounding increasingly frustrated, but still singing the phrase the same as he had been.

I sighed, watching the rehearsal disinterestedly. Poor Raoul, he had been so angry. I could hardly blame him; after all, I _had_ agreed to marry him. My gaze dropped to my left hand before I remembered that Erik had taken the ring, as well as the golden cross my father had given me, at the Masquerade.

Rehearsals went on all day. There were many more scornful remarks made about the Opera, but they were said in quiet whispers, usually followed by a surreptitious look around.

By the time rehearsals ended, everyone was in quite a temper. Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry were under strict instructions to get everyone ready so there would be no delay in the opening of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Therefore, they were more critical than usual, and tempers grew short.

When we were finally dismissed I rushed off stage to my dressing room, trying to leave before Meg caught me. I turned the corner to go to my dressing room when I almost ran into Raoul, who was walking purposefully towards the stage.

"Christine, rehearsals are finished?" he asked.

"Yes, we just finished," I replied, trying not to look too anxious.

"I came to ask you to supper," Raoul said, giving me a pleading look.

I sighed. "Oh, Raoul, thank you, but I am quite tired and would like to just go home and go to bed."

Raoul looked at me suspiciously. "I have a carriage waiting outside. Can I at least take you to your flat?"

"Oh, Raoul, I cannot. I must meet with Madame Giry for a moment."

"I can wait."

I was becoming increasingly nervous. Erik would be waiting for me behind the mirror and Raoul would not stop pestering me. "Please, Raoul, not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Christine, I do not know what you think you are doing, but I advise you to think about it carefully. This…monster has some kind of control over you, and you do not even see it," Raoul said, taking my hands into his. "You are to be my wife, Christine…"

Taking a deep breath I gently disentangled my hands from his. "I know, Raoul."

A flash of anger crossed Raoul's handsome features, but he quickly covered it up and smiled. "I will talk to you tomorrow, then," he said.

I nodded. He kissed me on the cheek and turned to leave, the ends of his white scarf trailing after him as he strode down the hallway.

I let out a deep breath I had not realised I was holding and dashed into my dressing room. I leaned back on the door, trying to calm my raving heart. I did not know what I was doing anymore. My tumultuous emotions were threatening to overtake me. And still, here I was, going back to Erik.

"Christine…"

I glanced over at the mirror, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of that voice. "Erik!"

The mirror slid open and Erik stood in the frame, wearing his fedora pulled low over his face, shadowing his eyes.

He stepped aside as I stepped through the mirror. We walked in silence through the dark corridors. The air was cold and I found myself shivering. I had left my cloak in my dressing room, but I had no desire to return to get it.

We were soon on the boat, gliding across the black, mirror like surface. On the water it was even colder and I wrapped my arms around myself in a vain attempt to stay warm. Erik stopped, mid-row and stared at me, shivering in the bottom of the boat. His face was still bathed in shadows, so I could not tell what he was thinking, but he pulled off his cloak and leaned down, placing it gently on my shoulders, careful not to touch me. I wrapped the cloak around me. "Thank you."

"You are welcome, child," he replied. "I do not want you catching cold."

"Did you watch rehearsals?" I asked.

"Of course."

"What did you think?" I pressed, disappointed that he had not said anything.

He was silent for a few moments. "I think that you need improvement, that you are still trying to sing without feeling the emotion of the songs. I think Signor Piangi is a toneless fool, and he will be the death of my Don Juan. And Carlotta, well, she would do well to listen to Madame Giry and keep her opinions to herself."

His words stung and I felt a prickle of tears behind my eyes. How I wished, in that moment, for my fatherly Angel of Music, rather than this sour dispositioned man in the boat with me. His lightning fast mood swings were becoming unbearable.

The boat bumped gently into the dock and Erik gracefully stepped out of the boat and I scrambled after him. He tied up the boat and we walked into his chambers. Without another word he set his hat in his chair and sat at the organ. I followed him and stood by the organ. We dove immediately into the lesson, doing the scales to warm up. I was still cold and continued to wear his cloak. There was no improvement in my voice and I could feel Erik growing progressively more irritated with me. "Christine, you are not trying," he finally said.

"I am!" I cried. "I am trying."

He sighed and his eyes, behind the mask, looked frustrated. "Perhaps you are just over tired. Shall I call a carriage to take you back to your flat?"

"Can I not I stay here?" I asked.

He sighed again and looked away. "If that is what you wish," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He stood and as he walked out of the room I thought I heard him say, "Heaven knows I can deny you nothing …."

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Frustration ate at me like acid. All I think of was Christine, asking me for more lessons, Christine asking if she could stay with me in my chambers, Christine trying to sing the part of Aminta and failing miserably. Her voice was beautiful, as always, but it lacked the emotion it needed to fully portray Don Juan's lover. The problem, I realised, was that Christine was young and naïve, unable to grasp the passion that my Opera required.

She was a woman in age, yet there was a childlike innocence in her, no doubt a result of living a sheltered life with her doting father. My need for perfection drove me to be harder on her than was necessary, but I was unable to accept anything but perfection for my opera, my life's work.

So much of myself, my emotions, my past, were woven into that opera. Even the name, taken from an insulting nickname, was a part of me. The music brought out every emotion I had felt in my life, every bit of anger, passion, frustration and confusion. The Opera was volatile, and needed to be sung as such, a tidal wave of emotions.

I was vaguely aware of the realization that my life was spinning out of control. Christine was engaged to Raoul, there was no denying that, yet I had heard them arguing outside her dressing room after rehearsals. I was not sure what she was doing, indeed, I was not sure _she _knew what she was doing.

Knowing that there was little chance that I would be able to sleep, and unable to retreat to the organ and my music, as Christine was sleeping, I decided to go for a walk.

I rarely ventured to the streets of Paris, but in the middle of the night it was easy for me to blend in, surrounded by shadows as I was. There were few people about, and those that were out were as happy to ignore me as I was to ignore them.

The air was cold, my breath freezing before me. I walked with my hat pulled low over my eyes. I made my way to a small park and walked along the leaf covered path, lost in my thoughts. Night wove its magic around me and before I knew it the sky was growing light in the east. A new day was dawning and I had spent the whole night walking around the park.

I made my way quickly back to the Opera House and escaped into the safety of the dark catacombs. Slowly I rowed back across to my chambers, wondering idly if Christine was awake yet. I could not deny that I was pleased she had come back to me for lessons, and yet I could not deny that a big part of me still suspected her of working with Raoul in some sort of scheme.

The first thing I noticed as the gate lifted and I walked through to my chambers, was Christine, huddled on the floor. She looked up as the gate rose. Her eyes were red rimmed and panicked.

"Christine?" I said, concerned. All thoughts of her possible deception and betrayal flew from my mind.

"Erik, you came back," she said, her eyes wide.

"Of course I came back, child. Why would I not have come back?" I asked, confused.

"I-I do not know. I could not sleep, so I came out to get a drink and I looked for you, but you were gone, so I waited for you, but you never came back. I thought you weren't going to come back! I could not get out. I tried, but I could not open the gate," she babbled. She was cradling her hands in her lap.

I crouched down in front of her and gently took her hands in mine. They were bleeding from a series of cuts on the palms, and her fingernails were broken. A rush of guilt filled me with remorse. As it seemed to do, time had flown and I had not realised how long I had been gone, and I had not thought about what Christine would think if she looked for me.

Christine was looking at me, and her eyes filled with tears. "I thought you meant to leave me here, to die."

I sighed and stood, helping Christine to her feet. She swayed and I put an arm around her waist to steady her. I tried in vain to ignore the feel of her body so close to mine, as she leaned against me. "Now, if I let you die, I would not be able to continue our lessons," I said lightly as we walked to her room. I helped her onto the bed. "I will be right back," I said as I started to leave and Christine looked panicked.

I hurried out of her room and went into the kitchen. I filled a bowl with warm water, gathered some bandages and found a tin of salve in a cupboard. I fixed a pot of tea and loaded everything onto a tray. Quickly I returned to Christine's room. She was still awake, waiting for me. I set the tray on the table next to the bed, picked up the bowl and sat gingerly next to her on the bed. I gently put her hands in the water.

She gasped as the warm water stung her hands. "It will be all right," I said softly. After I soaked her hands I rubbed salve onto the cuts and wrapped her hands with the bandages. She was looking drowsy, so I fixed her tea and dropped a few drops of laudanum in it to help her sleep and to ease her pain. She sipped it, growing more and more drowsy.

Just as she was about to drop the teacup I rescued it and set it on the tray. She slid down under the covers, keeping her bandaged hands on top of the blankets.

"You weren't going to let me die, Erik?" Christine mumbled, the laudanum beginning to take effect.

"Of course not, child," I replied, looking down at her beautiful face, her dark hair fanned out on the pillows. It was easy for me to forget how young she was. Her voice, her vast talent, made her seem far older than her twenty-one years. But she was still just a child in so many ways. She thought I meant to kill her, to kill her or to lock her in my home and leave her to die. She was so naïve. She did not even realise how much I loved her.

"I am glad you came back, Erik," she murmured softly, and closed her eyes.

I felt warmth course through me at her words, even though I knew it was only a result of the laudanum.

X

Christine slept through the morning. I worried that she would sleep straight through rehearsals, but late in the morning her bedroom door opened and she crept out, looking sheepish. She came to stand next to my chair, where I was sitting, reading.

"How are you feeling, Christine?" I asked, looking up.

"Oh, my hands are somewhat sore," she replied. There was a pause, then she looked at the floor. "I-I acted like quite foolishly, Erik. I am sorry."

I looked at her. "I am sorry I left you alone so long, child. I did not mean to alarm you, and I had no intention of leaving you here to rot in the bedroom."

Christine looked up and caught my eye, her gaze questioning.

"It is nearly time for rehearsals to begin," I said. I motioned towards the table, where a tray of fruit and bread sat. "You should eat something before you go."

She nodded and walked to the table. She nibbled on some grapes and a piece of bread. She sipped the tea. "Erik?"

"Yes, child?"

"Will you still teach me?"

"Of course. I said I would, did I not?" I asked.

"Y-yes," she replied.

"Well, then, I suppose I meant it," I said.

"I just thought…I am sorry," she said.

I looked at her questioningly, wondering exactly what she was apologizing for, but she just looked away.

I took her back to her dressing room. She promised to be back as soon as rehearsals were over. I decided to stop questioning her motives and just relish the fact that she was coming back to me for more lessons.

It was not much, but it was more than I had expected.


	13. The Games We've Played

Time drifted by. I spent my days watching rehearsals from Box Five. Christine continued her lessons almost every night. The nights that she did not come I was certain she was with the Vicomte, but I made no mention of it.

I grew used to her company. When we were not having lessons, we spoke of many things. She told me about her father and the close relationship she had had with him. She spoke of her childhood and her father's dream for her to be a singer. She was careful to never mention Raoul, though he was always there, the wedge between us.

After a couple of weeks of companionship, Christine suddenly cooled towards me. Despite our polite conversations, our relationship became strained and full of tension. No matter how comfortable with me she tried to act, there was always a glimmer of doubt and fear in her eyes that refused to leave. Meanwhile, I was almost content just to have my Angel half of the time. I was reminded of Greek mythology and the story of Hades and Persephone. I felt a strange affinity with the Greek God of the Dead. He was damned to live in the darkness of the Underworld, as was I. He, too, had taken his love; abducted her and hid her away from the world in his underground lair. He, too, was condemned to be with her only half of his life, while she spent the other half in the daylight of the mortal world.

The difference, as far as I could tell, was that in time, Persephone had come to love her Hades.

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It did not take Raoul long to figure out what was going on. In fact, it was only after a couple of weeks of me making excuses as to why I could not have supper with him that he put the pieces together. I was on my way from my dressing room to the stage when he found me.

"Christine!"

I whirled around. "Raoul!" I said, pasting a smile on my face.

"Christine, we have to talk," he said.

"I-I cannot. I must get to rehearsals," I said, turning to walk to the stage.

He grabbed my arm. "No, Christine. We need to talk. Now." With that he proceeded to drag me through the Opera House and outside. When we were a little ways away from the Opera House he stopped. His face was red and his eyes flashed with barely concealed anger.

"What are you doing, Christine?" he demanded.

"I do not know what you mean," I said faintly.

"Christine, I am not dense!" he shouted. "You are seeing him again, are you not? Are you?" he repeated when I did not answer.

"I…" I said, looking down.

Raoul let out a shaky breath. I looked up and saw the hurt in his eyes. "I am sorry, Raoul," I said.

"Christine," he said carefully. "This man, this monster, has you under his control. Are you afraid of him? I cannot think of any other reason that you would willingly walk right back into his clutches. He is a killer, Christine. No matter what else is going through your mind, you must remember what he is capable of."

I swallowed, my eyes filling with tears. His words were true. No matter how much I did not want to admit it, he was right. Erik had killed, at least once and who knew how many others? How could I justify murder?

"You are my fiancée, Christine," he said softly. "I want to marry you and take you away from him, away from all of this."

I thought frantically. "I must continue my lessons, Raoul."

"Why?"

"H-he will know something is wrong if I do not," I said. It was the only thing I could think of.

Raoul studied me carefully. "Are you saying you will help us capture him?"

"I will sing, Raoul. That is all I can promise you."

That seemed to satisfy him. He took my hands and kissed them gently. "I love you so, Christine," he murmured. He leaned down to kiss me while something in the back of my mind protested wildly.

Things were strained with Erik after that day. I grew to despise my double life. When I was not at rehearsals I spent half of my time with Erik, underneath the Opera House while the other half was spent with Raoul. The closeness that Erik and I had developed after the night I had hurt my hands trying to force the gate open disappeared after that. I caught Erik's eyes on me constantly, watching me, while guilt ate at me.

Despite Erik's charming politeness, how unfailingly gentlemanly he was, there was an edge of danger to him that scared me even as it intrigued me. Erik was bold, mysterious and seductive in his ways, while Raoul was Raoul; proper and polite and somewhat boyish. Erik blazed in colour, while Raoul was a mere shadow. And there was no way to deny the incredible power of his voice. When he sang, it was as if heaven itself had opened up. He could bring me to tears with his voice and in the next moment stir up emotions in me that I did not even recognise. His voice and his very aura of power commanded respect.

The rehearsals continued. Piangi remained unable or unwilling, I am not sure which, to sing his phrases correctly. Singing the part of Aminta opposite him made it even more difficult for me to achieve the perfection that Erik strived for.

It was well known among the performers that _Don Juan Triumphant _was nothing more than a farce. It was true that the music was powerful and intriguing, but the Opera's plot, though well constructed, smacked of indecency and it was highly doubtful that the well to do of Paris would accept such an Opera. But I doubted that the managers cared. Their only concern was to perform the Opera, capture Erik and finally be free of the Opera Ghost.

Consequently, neither the singing nor the music ever held quite the level of emotion that it should have. I could sense Erik's displeasure after each and every rehearsal, though he rarely commented on it.

Raoul continued to be sweet and charming. Nothing more was said about the Opera Ghost. We had supper together occasionally, and each time I was thrown into confusion. He brought me flowers and continued to profess his love to me. I felt like a terrible tease, knowing that I cared for both Raoul and Erik. Where Erik drew me to him with his mysterious darkness, Raoul's light warmed me and comforted me.

Two weeks before the show was to open the cast was sent into frenzy. The Opera Ghost had sent more letters, it seemed. I was summoned, along with Raoul, Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer, to the manager's office after rehearsal.

"Not more notes," Raoul said warily as we entered the office.

"Yes, more notes," Firmin said sourly. "It seems our esteemed Opera Ghost is unhappy with how his opera is being performed at rehearsals."

I had wondered how long it would be before Erik put his foot down about the mediocre performances.

"The man is a menace," Andre said. "The sooner we can be rid of him, the better."

"I wholeheartedly agree, Messieurs," Raoul said, glancing at me.

I fought to keep my face expressionless.

"It seems the only performance he is satisfied with is Meg Giry's," Andre said as he glanced over his note. "Though he concedes that Miss Daae has improved much under his tutelage," he added.

Neither the managers, nor Madame Giry or Monsieur Reyer seemed surprised at this; apparently Raoul had already told them I had returned for lessons.

The managers sighed in unison. "Well, Madame Giry, Monsieur Reyer, we must beg you to work harder with the cast. We certainly do not need to make the Opera Ghost angry enough to postpone the opening.

Madame Giry nodded. "Certainly, Messieurs."

"I will do what I can," Reyer said, somewhat doubtfully.

I was beginning to wonder why I had been called in to the meeting.

The managers dismissed Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer, which left only Raoul and me.

"Miss Daae," Firmin said. "Before we can dismiss you, we must ask you something, and you must answer us honestly."

"Of course," I said somewhat nervously.

"Have you told the Opera Ghost of our plan?"

There was a silence then as Raoul and the managers watched me.

"Of course not," I replied truthfully.

Raoul looked at me skeptically. "You refuse to go along with our plan, you have continued letting him tutor you, and yet you have not told him we are planning to set a trap for him?"

"No, I have not," I repeated firmly and Raoul gave a little smile.

"Very well. Please keep it that way, Miss Daae," Firmin said.

I nodded, trying to ignore my conscience which was asking me exactly why I had not told Erik of their plan.

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Behind the mirror I watched Christine. She told the managers that she had not told me of their plot and I could see that they did not believe her. Only Raoul seemed to, and I caught the triumphant look in his eyes.

My anger started simmering. Caught up as I had been in just having Christine with me, I had not thought about the fact that she knew of their plan to 'catch' me and yet she had said nothing. If she cared for me at all, would she not tell me? She was playing a dangerous game, working both sides as she was.

I began feeling like a perfect fool. All of this time I had believed she was with me because she wanted to, that perhaps she was even beginning to care for me. And it was all a lie. She may have told Raoul that she was not going to be part of their plan, but her very silence put her in league with them.

Shaking with rage I returned to Christine's dressing room to wait for her, but she never returned.

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After the meeting with Firmin and Andre Raoul bustled me out to his carriage and to my flat. Lost in my confusion, I did not protest. He got me settled in my flat and left me, promising to send a carriage over in the morning to take me to the Opera House.

When he was finally gone I took a deep breath and stood in front of the fireplace. I stared into the leaping flames. What was wrong with me? What was I doing? I had never felt so confused.

I knew that I cared for Raoul. I knew that I loved him, even. He had been my closest friend growing up, and since he had come back into my life, he had been caring, supportive. We were engaged to be married, for pity's sake! And yet it was Erik, always Erik that crowded my mind. It was his voice that I longed to hear.

Things could not continue the way they were. I knew that. One way or another, I had to sort out my muddled feelings and figure out what I was doing with my life. What I was doing was unfair, to both Raoul and Erik.

I sighed as I lifted my eyes and saw my father's violin. I ran a finger along the neck, fondly remembering the many times he had played that violin while I drifted off into sleep. I often wondered what my life would be like, had he lived. Where would I be? What would I be doing? It was a fair guess to say that I would not be singing the lead at the Paris Opera House. Before Erik, I had not cared enough about my career to excel. But Erik had opened up the world to me, shown me what I was capable of. His gentle guidance and firm discipline had changed me from a mediocre chorus girl to a leading lady. I remembered with a smile the standing ovations that I had received, the many compliments from the patrons of the Opera House. But most of all I remembered the compliments I had received from Erik. His approval meant more to me than anyone else's, except perhaps my father's.

Remembering my father hurt. He had always been there for me. No matter how silly the problem he had always given me his whole attention. He had always made me feel important. Since his death I had felt so insecure, so lost.

Until Erik.

I bit my lip and looked down at the cheerfully crackling fire. How I wished I could see my father one more time. With a sigh I turned from the fire and walked slowly into my bedroom. My head was starting to ache and I was exhausted, so I climbed into bed. I drifted off to sleep and spent a restless night tossing and turned, plagued by dark dreams.

Raoul was waiting for me in my dressing room the next day when I arrived. I felt my face pale as I saw him sitting there at my dressing table.

"R-Raoul. What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Waiting for you, darling," he replied, coming over to me. He kissed my cheek.

I tried to smile and failed, so I turned my back on him. Uneasily I realised I was looking directly into Erik's mirror. Was he there, watching me? He had to have been angry that I did not show up for lessons the night before and now here I was, with Raoul.

"Two more weeks, Christine," Raoul said, coming to stand behind me. He gripped my shoulders. He nuzzled his face into my hair. "Two more weeks and we will be free of all this madness and we will be able to plan our wedding."

My heart sank at his words. I smiled weakly, but before I could reply there was a knock at my door and Claudia walked in, holding my Aminta costume. I had forgotten that today was the first dress rehearsal.

"Well, Little Lotte, I must go. I will see you later," Raoul said, kissing my cheek again before he left.

I gave a great sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him. Claudia helped me into my dress and fixed my hair. I stood in front of the mirror in the scanty Spanish dress, feeling confused and completely miserable.


	14. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

The next week went by slowly. I went back to my dressing room after every rehearsal but Erik was never there. How I wished I knew how to open that mirror! But try as I might to figure out how it worked, I could never get it open. I pounded on the mirror, calling out to him, begging him to come back, but it was to no avail. The harsh silence of my dressing room drove me to tears. It seemed that the fragile trust that had built between us had been shattered by my foolish ways.

Tension grew thick the closer it came to the opening night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Tempers were short and nerves were frazzled as we rehearsed relentlessly. Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry worked us into exhaustion. Apparently Erik was satisfied with the results of our exhausting rehearsals for there were no more notes, no more complaints. Signor Piangi still could not sing his lines correctly, but I had come to just ignore him. Apparently Erik had, as well.

Christmas was fast approaching, but I had little interest in the holiday. Since my father had died Christmas was a sad affair. Having no other family I had always spent the day alone, missing my father and dreaming of the days when he had been alive and Christmas had been a joyous affair.

My thoughts wandered around in circles. Raoul, Erik, darkness, light. My thoughts wandered to the summers I had spent at the ocean as a child. I remembered when I would swim out too far and the undercurrent would grab a hold of me, pulling me under the water. I felt that same way now, as if the swirl of emotions was starting to drag me under. Part of me wished to just forget about Erik and marry Raoul. There was safety and security in that choice. But the other part of me craved Erik's darkness, his mystery. I felt as if a battle was raging inside of me, and the prize was my heart.

But now I had doubts, doubts that Erik actually cared for me at all. He had not returned, had not even spoken to me for so long. As for Raoul…well, Raoul was Raoul. Raoul was used to getting his way, and I could sense his growing anger and frustration with me. No doubt he was confused (how could he not be?) by my actions.

At once I was filled with an overwhelming desire to talk to my father, to ask for his advice. Erik's absence brought to light how truly lonely I was. In Erik I had found, for a while, the same gentle support that my father had given me, and I missed my father all the more.

It seemed that Raoul was always around, but as we spent more time together, I began to notice a good deal of things that began to shatter my illusions about him. He never wanted to hear how rehearsals had gone; in fact, when I tried to explain how frustrated I was with Signor Piangi just brushed my concerns aside like so much lint. It seemed he only wanted to talk about his job, his life. I began to feel that I was nothing more to him than just a fiancée, someone to show off to his highbrow acquaintances.

Melancholy enveloped me like a cloak, but Raoul seemed not to notice, and the mirror in my dressing room maintained its stony silence. There were times when I feared that I truly had gone mad, and that Erik was nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination.

Christmas Eve arrived with a light snow that dusted the streets in white. There was to be an early morning rehearsal. No rest for the wicked, as my father had always laughingly said when I complained. Amazingly enough we were to have Christmas Day free.

As the carriage carried me through the streets of Paris to the Opera House, I noticed many families, rushing about to do last minute holiday preparations. Happy couples walked arm-in-arm; it seemed everyone had someone, and I felt a horrible ache in my chest as I thought about my father. So many memories! Decorating the Christmas tree, hanging stockings. Singing Christmas carols before bed and his dire warnings that I get immediately to sleep so Father Christmas could visit.

I sighed as the carriage came to a stop in front of the Opera. I climbed slowly out and walked slowly through the front doors. I dropped my cloak off in my dressing room, pausing for a few moments to listen for Erik, but, as usual, I was greeted by cold silence.

Rehearsal was brutal. Reyer was in a temper and it seemed nothing I did was correct. I was on the verge of tears when we were finally dismissed, with Monsieur Reyer giving me special instruction to practise my part the next day.

I escaped to my dressing room. My singing had been atrocious throughout rehearsal, lost as I was in thoughts of my father. I knew immediately what I had to do. I picked up my cloak and, as I was just about to leave, there was a knock on the door and Raoul walked in, grinning broadly.

"Christine!" he said. "I am glad I caught you before you left. I thought I might have missed you!"

I smiled weakly as he handed me a bouquet of white roses. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. You will be coming to the Christmas Eve party at my estate tonight, correct?" he asked.

"Oh," I said. "I-I had not realised I was invited," I said stupidly.

Raoul laughed heartily. "Silly girl, of course you are. You are my fiancée!"

I fought back a grimace and tried to smile. "I am not sure, Raoul."

A frown creased his forehead. "What do you mean, you are not sure?"

"I am rather tired, Raoul. And there is something I have to do."

"Something? Something like what?" he asked, suspicion plain on his face.

I sighed. "I am going to Perros," I said.

"Perros? Whatever for?" he asked.

"To visit my father's grave."

Raoul looked bewildered. "Today?"

"Yes, today," I said peevishly.

"Can it not wait?"

"No it cannot!" I snapped. "Please, Raoul, try to understand."

He clenched his jaw. "Then I will come with you."

"No, Raoul. This is something I need to do alone," I said firmly.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If you insist," he said. "At least take my carriage. My driver will take you there."

Tears prickled behind my eyes. "Thank you," I said.

"You are welcome, darling," Raoul said, somewhat sadly. "You should know I cannot deny you anything."

I froze at his words, so similar to the whispered words Erik had said. Suddenly the room seemed hot and uncomfortable and I felt smothered. "Please, Raoul. I must go."

"Of course, Christine. My carriage is out front."

"Thank you," I said again. Raoul was looking at me lovingly and I turned and fled the room, guilt eating at me.

I ran the entire way out of the Opera House. When I reached Raoul's carriage I was out of breath and tears were running down my face. I told the driver to take me to the cemetery in Perros and settled back in the carriage's plush seats, sobbing.

Before long the carriage stopped before the tall, wrought iron gates that surrounded the cemetery. The driver opened the carriage door and helped me out. I thanked him and walked slowly towards the gates that led to the cemetery.

The sky was laden with dark grey clouds and the ground was covered with a light blanket of new snow. I walked slowly along the path that ran through the centre of the cemetery. Trees draped with moss stood silently along the pathway, while headstones of all shapes and sizes huddled in the snow, shrouded in a light mist of fog. The air was cold and silent and the only sound was the crunch of snow beneath my boots. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, my breath freezing into little white clouds.

My father's grave was toward the back of the cemetery surrounded by a tall ivy-covered wall with a small gate in front of the headstone. A large stone cross stood majestically on the wall above the headstone, which read 'Stephen Daae, 1832-1876.' I opened the gate and stepped through.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing," I whispered, reciting my father's favourite story. "Her father promised her that he would send her the Angel of Music. Her father promised her…" My voice broke as I began sobbing. "Oh, Papa!" I cried. "Why did you leave me? Why?"

A church bell began to toll in the distance, its hollow ringing echoing in my ears as I looked sadly at the granite headstone. A small marble angel stood watch over the grave, arms outstretched. It seemed a cold and inadequate memorial of a man, a father, who had been who had been so warm and gentle. Pain constricted my chest and made it difficult to breathe.

I was still holding the bouquet of white roses that Raoul had given me. I buried my face into their soft petals, breathing their sweet scent. I knelt down in the snow in front of my father's headstone and gently set the flowers on the ground, pulling one single rose from the bouquet.

A thousand memories crowded my mind as I knelt in the snow with my head bowed, crying. He had been my friend, as well as my father. My one companion, he had been the only person who mattered to me. My whole world had shattered when he had died so unexpectedly. Five long years I had been without him, and it just never seemed to get any easier. I continued to ache, longing to hear his kind voice just one more time, even though I knew I never would. How many times had I dreamed of him, dreams so vivid that when I woke I expected to walk into the kitchen and find him there, sipping tea.

But of course they were just dreams, beautiful dreams that vanished like so much smoke in the cold light of morning. I had lost myself for so long in my dreams, not realising that dwelling in the past would not help me to accomplish all that he had dreamed for me to do. There were so many things I needed to do, decisions I needed to make, and I was starting to realise that rather than wish my father were here to guide me, I needed to just follow my heart.

Too many years I had spent fighting back tears, lost in my grief. I needed to put the past behind me and move towards the future, rather than dwelling on what could have been.

I rose and stood in front of my father's headstone. I took a deep breath.

"Papa," I said, much the same as I would have had we been sitting in front of a fire, talking. "Papa, I miss you so." I paused. "Please forgive me, but I must let go. I must say good-bye and try to live, instead of always dwelling on memories. Papa, I need to find the strength to try to move on, to stop looking back. I look back on these wasted years, years that I have spent hopelessly lost in sorrow, and I can see that I have to let the past just die. No more memories, no more silent tears," I said, wiping my eyes. "Help me say good-bye…"

The air was cold and silent, only the sound the last echoes of a passing bell. I took the single white rose and gently laid it in the outstretched arms of the marble angel. I ran my fingers lightly over the cold, smooth face before I closed the gate and turned with a newfound resolve to make things right in my life.

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance…"

I froze as Erik's voice came from behind me, weaving its way around me. My heart began to race at the sound of his voice, which sounded just as it had when he had come to me as my Angel of Music, breathtaking and gentle.

"Angel or father, friend or Phantom….who is it there?" I asked, hoping he knew what I meant by my words. There were so many sides to Erik…

"Have you forgotten your Angel?" he asked. His voice was like a drug, wrapping itself around me, holding me so I was unable to move.

I turned slowly and looked up. He was standing on the wall above my father's grave, next to the large stone cross. There was a light mist in the air and it swirled around him, shrouding him in mystery. He was dressed entirely in black; black pants, black dress coat and hat and an elegant black cloak. The white of his mask and his dress shirt stood out boldly in the gathering darkness. He was holding a long bronze staff with a skull on the top.

I took a deep, shaky breath. "Angel…" I whispered.

"Too long you have wandered in winter, my child. You have been too far from me," Erik said. From where I stood I could not see his eyes, could not read his expression, but his voice was so soft, so calm.

I heard a noise behind me and ignored it as I stared up at Erik, my Angel of Music. I took a step towards him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark haired figure, striding towards me.

"Christine! What are you doing? Why are you listening to him?" someone hissed behind me. It was Raoul, sounding angry and upset.

"Wildly my mind beats against me," I said, almost to myself. "I cannot resist…" I whispered.

"You resist me, yet your soul obeys!" Erik said, his voice growing louder, more commanding.

"Why have you returned to him?" Raoul asked pleadingly. I felt him tug at my cloak, but I pulled away from him and took another step towards Erik.

"Christine, you denied me. You turned from me and the true beauty I offer. Do not shun me to your Angel of Music," he said, his voice hypnotic.

"Angel of Music. My guide, my protector…" I said breathlessly. I took another step towards him, feeling the irresistible pull of his mesmerizing voice.

"I am your Angel of Music. Come to me," Erik said softly, holding out his hand, beckoning me to him

"You are no angel!" Raoul called out suddenly. "Cease this torment."

It was as if Erik had heard nothing. Indeed, he was so focused, he may well not have. "Come to me, Christine. Come to your Angel of Music…"

"Christine, Christine, listen to me. Whatever you believe, this man…this _monster_, is not your Angel of Music!" Raoul said desperately. Then he stepped in front of me. "Let her go!" he shouted up at Erik. "For God's sake, _let her go_!"

I looked over at Raoul, startled. The web that Erik's voice had woven around me disappeared as I looked at Raoul, yet I still felt a need, a desperate need, to go to Erik. Raoul was shaking with anger, glaring up at Erik, murder in his eyes.

"Raoul!" I whispered. What was he doing here? Why had he followed me?

Raoul turned around at the sound of my voice and wrapped me in his arms. I looked up at him, at the fierce protectiveness and love in his eyes. But it was not Raoul that I longed to be with. I glanced up at Erik. He was standing next to the cross, frozen. I could not see his expression, but anger radiated from him. I struggled out of Raoul's grip and backed up a few steps. I was suddenly afraid for Raoul, sensing the danger that surrounded Erik like his cloak.

Erik took the staff that he held and raised it. With a flash that almost blinded me, a ball of fire erupted from the mouth of the skull that topped the staff that he held. It streaked down and landed a few feet from where Raoul stood. "Bravo, Monsieur, such spirited words!" Erik said. His tone was light, almost joking, but I sensed the deadly fury that boiled under the surface of his words. Another fireball streaked out of the skull, landing at Raoul's feet.

Raoul stared impassively up at Erik. "More tricks, Monsieur?" he asked.

"Shall we see, Monsieur, how far you dare go?" Erik said as he shot another fireball.

"More deception? More violence?" said Raoul, taking a few steps towards the wall where Erik stood.

"Raoul, no!" I cried. I was terrified that Erik would kill Raoul.

"That is right, Monsieur!" Erik called out encouragingly. "Keep walking this way!"

Two more fireballs fell at Raoul's feet, but he ignored them and took another step towards the wall. "You cannot win her love by making her your prisoner!" Raoul shouted.

"Raoul, stop!" I cried, trying to grab his arm.

"Stay back, Christine," Raoul said sternly.

"I am here, Monsieur, the Angel of Death! Come on, Monsieur, do not stop now!" Erik taunted, and three more fireballs fell to the ground, erupting into a shower of sparks as they hit the ground. Raoul was almost directly at Erik's feet and fear clutched me as I saw the deadly gleam in Erik's eyes as he looked down at Raoul.

I ran to Raoul, clutching his arm. "Raoul, please, come back!" I said desperately, pulling at him. I could not stand by and watch Erik kill Raoul.

Raoul looked down at me. What made him back off, I do not know. I do not know whether it was fear of Erik, or the desperate fear in my eyes, but Raoul looked down at me for several seconds before he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me away from my father's grave.

"Do not go!" Erik called. I struggled against Raoul's grip. I had to get back to Erik! But Raoul was too strong for me and he all but dragged me back to the carriage.

"So be it! Now, let it be war upon you _both_!" Erik shouted, his voice icy with fury. I glanced back and saw an explosion of fire from my father's grave and I shivered with fear.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Day after day I watched Christine from behind her dressing room mirror. I had not spoken to her since the day of her last meeting with the managers, when I had realized the depth of her deception. I had waited for her for hours, expecting her to return, but she never did. By the time I left to go back to my chambers I was furious, out of control with rage. I stormed into my chambers and sat at the organ, pouring out my frustrations into my music. The walls shook with the intensity of my playing.

Night after night I watched Christine return from rehearsals, expecting me to be waiting for her. I stood impassively behind the mirror, listening to her beg for me to come to her. I watched as she almost drove herself mad trying to open the mirror to no avail. I saw the desperation in her eyes, but I studiously ignored it. I wanted nothing more to do with her games.

Her singing went quickly downhill. I watched their rehearsals with growing disgust. Mediocre at best, it was not what I expected for my life's work. And yet I began to feel a strange sort of apathy. Without Christine, little seemed to matter. And, as I watched her leave with the Vicomte every night, I realised that I had lost. I did not take kindly to losing, but short of getting the Vicomte out of the picture permanently, I did not have a chance. Tempting though that thought was, I knew that if I were to kill Raoul it would only prove to her that I was the monster she believed me to be.

The end result was always the same. Christine had chosen. The Vicomte had won.

I continued to watch her. She was like a drug, and I was an addict. To watch her, listen to her, even in secrecy was almost enough. Almost.

As opening night drew ever closer, murmurs of the imminent trap were heard whispered between cast members and the managers. I laughed silently at them. They thought that whispering would keep their words from my ears. I would have thought by now that they would have learned. The Opera Ghost misses nothing.

I felt a strange coldness overtake me in that week after the managers meeting. I was angry, yes. But I was also terribly tired. Tired of the foolishness of men.

Everything came to a head exactly one week before opening night. After Christine endured a particularly harsh rehearsal she escaped to her dressing room. I followed through the corridors and came to stand in my usual spot behind the mirror. She seemed terribly upset, rushing about the room, gathering her cloak and hurrying to the door. Her eyes were luminous with the unmistakable shine of unshed tears. Before she could get out the door Raoul burst in, grinning like an idiot and carrying a bouquet of white roses.

They spoke for a few moments. It seemed Raoul was having a Christmas party that night. It was Christmas Eve, I realised with a start. I held no importance to such holidays and rarely remembered them at all.

They continued to talk and Christine told Raoul that she was going to the cemetery, to her father's grave. It irritated me the way he refused to take anything she said seriously. The self-centred fop.

I watched in amusement as Christine snapped at him, showing a bit of that well-hidden fire that I had only seen on a few rare occasions. Raoul offered to go with her and she refused, so he offered his carriage. How chivalrous, I thought snidely.

"Thank you," Christine said, her emerald eyes filling with tears.

"You are welcome, darling," Raoul said and I clenched my fists at his endearment. "You should know I cannot deny you anything."

I stiffened at his words. I had almost the same thing to her.

Christine hurried out of the room and, after a few moments Raoul made to follow her. As rushed out the door he almost knocked over Madame Giry, who was walking past Christine's dressing room door.

"Monsieur," she said with a stiff nod. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Christine is going to the cemetery in Perros. I do not want her to go there alone, so I am going to follow her. Please excuse me," Raoul said with a slight bow as he hurried away.

I clenched my jaw. He was going to follow her, was he? Two could play at his little game, I thought and ran the five levels to my chambers. I picked up a staff, a novelty that I had created while working for the shah in Persia and hurried back aboveground. With enough money as motivation and by taking little used back roads, I had no doubt that a rented carriage could beat Christine and the Vicomte both to the cemetery.

X

I followed Christine through the cemetery, gliding through the shadows as she walked slowly and purposefully towards the back of the cemetery. From a distance I saw the headstone with her father's name. I made my way to the tall, ivy covered wall that surrounded the grave and leapt lightly on top of it. I skulked across and stood behind the large stone cross that adorned the wall above her father's headstone. Focused as she was, she did not seem to notice me.

I watched from the shadows as she knelt before her father's grave, her head bowed. She was sobbing quietly and her grief was like a living entity, consuming her. She cried for quite some time before she finally stood. I listened with growing sympathy as she spoke to her father.

"Papa," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Papa, I miss you so. Please forgive me, but I must let go. I must say good-bye and try to live, instead of always dwelling on memories. Papa, I need to find the strength to try to move on, to stop looking back. I look back on these wasted years, years that I have spent hopelessly lost in sorrow, and I can see that I have to let the past just die. No more memories, no more silent tears." She paused, wiping her eyes. "Help me say good-bye…"

I watched helplessly as she placed a single white rose in the arms of the marble angel that adorned her father's grave. A bell tolled in the distance, echoing throughout the cemetery. She turned to leave and I felt a sudden desperation, a sudden reluctance to let her leave. I felt an obsessive urge to try one last time to see where her heart truly was.

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance," I said.

She froze. "Angel or father, friend or Phantom…who is it there?" she asked.

Behind my mask I smiled. "Have you forgotten your Angel?" I asked softly.

She turned slowly and looked up at me. Her eyes were red and her face tear-stained, yet she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Her expression was almost one of awe as she gazed up at me. "Angel…" she said softly.

"Too long you have wandered in winter, my child," I said softly. "You have been too far from me." I could feel my voice surround her and hold her.

A sudden movement from behind her caught my eye. In the foggy twilight I saw Raoul storming through the cemetery towards Christine. I willed myself to stay calm. Christine was under my spell, I could not afford to lose my concentration. She took a step towards me.

"Christine, what are you doing? Why are you listening to him?" Raoul asked, sounding angry.

Christine did not seem to hear him. "Wildly my mind beats against me. I cannot resist…"

"You resist me, yet your soul obeys!" I said.

Raoul tugged at her cloak. "Why have you returned to him?"

Christine pulled away from him, and took another step.

"Christine, you denied me. You turned from me and the true beauty I offer. Do not shun me again…come to your Angel of Music," I said.

"Angel of Music. My guide, my protector…" she whispered and took another step. Her eyes were wide, trusting.

"I am your Angel of Music. Come to me," I said, raising my hand and summoning her towards me.

"You are no angel!" Raoul shouted at me. He was standing with his fists clenched. "Cease this torment."

I ignored him. "Come to me, Christine. Come to your Angel of Music…"

"Christine, Christine, listen to me. Whatever you believe, this man, this _monster_, is not your Angel of Music!" Raoul said, his voice desperate as he pleaded with her. Then he moved in front of her and faced me. "Let her go!" he shouted. "For God's sake, _let her go_!"

Christine turned towards Raoul, looking startled. She looked bewildered, like a sleepwalker who is woken suddenly.

Raoul continued to glare at me and I felt my anger, which was already close to the surface, explode.

"Raoul," Christine whispered and Raoul turned and scooped her into his arms, holding her close to him.

My jaw clenched as I watched them, clutching each other desperately. I was barely able to leash my anger. It was all I could do not to leap off of that wall and kill Raoul with my bare hands.

The fire of rage burned through me as I lifted my staff. I pulled the trigger and a ball of fire exploded from the mouth of the skull and fell a few feet from where Raoul stood below me.

"Bravo, Monsieur, such spirited words!" I called out, my voice light, yet dripping with venom. I shot another fireball which landed closer, at Raoul's feet.

Raoul stared up at me, not acknowledging the fireballs. "More tricks, Monsieur?"

"Shall we see, Monsieur, how far you dare go?" I asked and shot another fireball.

Raoul began walking towards me. "More deception? More violence?"

"Raoul, no!" Christine cried out.

I smiled humourlessly. "That is right, Monsieur! Keep walking this way!"

"You cannot win her love by making her your prisoner!" Raoul shouted.

I froze at his words and at the truth in them that I did not want to admit. It enraged me all the more, especially when Christine grabbed at him. Raoul told her to stay back and she obeyed, her eyes wide with fear.

"I am here Monsieur, the Angel of Death!" I goaded. "Come on, Monsieur, do not stop now!" I shot three more fireballs which fell inches from where Raoul stood, exploding into a shower of sparks. Raoul was almost directly beneath me. Christine ran over to him grabbing his arm.

"Raoul, please, come back!" she cried. He looked down at her and an instant later he wrapped his arm around her and began pulling her away from me. I glared down at him, hating him. Hating his handsome face and his charming ways as he left once more with Christine, the woman I loved.

"Do not go!" I roared, but Raoul continued to lead her back to the carriage. "So be it!" I shouted after them. "Now, let it be war upon you _both_!" Shaking with rage I pulled a different trigger on the staff and an astonishing burst of flames exploded from the skull's mouth.

I had tried to be patient, I had tried to be kind and time after time Christine had snubbed me. She had chosen Raoul each time. Raoul and his handsome face. I cursed her, I cursed both of them and their naivety.

They had angered the Phantom for the last time. They thought that they would capture me. They thought they had me where they wanted me. Well, they would soon learn the true power of the Phantom of the Opera. And they would be sorry, indeed, that they had ever challenged me!


	15. The Bridge is Crossed

Raoul dragged me to the carriage. I struggled and cried the entire way, trying to get away from him.

"Christine!" he finally shouted. We were outside of the carriage and he was trying to get me to step into it. He took a hold of my shoulders and shook me roughly. "Stop it, Christine!"

All I could think of was the look in Erik's eyes as I tried to get Raoul away from him. Such cold bitterness! I knew he had to be thinking that I had betrayed him, yet again. I had just been so afraid that he would kill Raoul for challenging him! And Raoul did not have a chance against Erik. Whatever I thought about Raoul, he was still my childhood friend, and I knew he loved me. I would not be responsible for his death!

I slumped in Raoul's arms and he lifted me into the carriage. I huddled against the soft seat, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. With a shudder I remembered the icy fury in Erik's voice as he shouted at me not to leave, and the deadly seriousness in his voice as he declared war upon Raoul and me. What would happen now? What would he do next?

"Christine, you must stay away from that monster," Raoul said sternly. "He is driving you to madness, darling."

I looked up at him and narrowed my eyes angrily.

"What else could it be but madness that would draw you to him, time after time?" Raoul asked gently, taking my hand. I yanked it away from him.

He sighed and looked out the window. "Christine, there is just one week until the opening of _Don Juan_. Then we will capture your Angel of Music and be rid of him, once and for all. Until then, I am not letting you out of my sight."

"But…" I said.

"No. No protests, Christine," Raoul said firmly. "I will not risk anything else happening. You will stay with me, where it is safe, and I will entreat Claudia to stay with you at all times. I do not want you to be alone at all until this Phantom is caught. He is clearly insane, darling."

I stared at Raoul in disbelief. I knew he thought he was doing what was best, but what he was doing was no different that what Erik had done, and I told him so.

"No, Christine," he said with a tired sigh. "It is not the same. I am doing this to protect you, not to twist your mind to my desires."

I pressed my lips together, fighting the angry words that were about to bubble up. I could see by the stubborn set of his chin that Raoul was not about to back off, and I was weary of fighting. I sank back into the seat and closed my eyes, but all I could see was the look in Erik's eyes.

X

I refused to come out of my room for Raoul's party. I imagine he made some excuse or another, that I was feeling ill or something of the like. It was highly doubtful that he would tell them that I had gone mad, which is what I was sure he believed.

I decided to leave, to go back to the Opera House and talk to Erik, somehow. I made it to the stairs before I realised that Raoul had a maid stationed at the end of the stairs to watch me and make sure I did not leave.

Frustrated, I went back into my room. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes against the ache that was forming behind my eyes. I felt utterly exhausted and completely drained of energy.

I had no idea what would happen now. I could see that Raoul was not going give me any chance to return to Erik, and deep inside of me I feared that Erik could never forgive me for this last incident.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Deep inside the catacombs beneath the Opera House I willingly gave in to the madness that had been threatening since I had first laid eyes on Christine Daae.

I composed music with an overwhelming intensity. The music was hard, cruel and unforgiving. As is life, I thought cynically.

I lost myself in dark thoughts of revenge against Christine and her arrogant lover. Where once the thought of losing her had filled me with despair, the thought now filled me with an uncontrollable rage that ate at me constantly.

I had foolishly broken my most vital rule. I had fallen in love. For years I had not allowed myself to feel. I knew I was destined to spend my life alone and I had kept my emotions under a tight rein. I was cold, detached, allowing myself to feel only anger. Love, pain…those were feelings best ignored. And so I had thought myself incapable of love.

That had changed with Christine. There had been times I thought I could have killed her, such as when she had removed my mask. But her voice, her beauty and her charming naiveté had awoken feelings that had been dormant for longer than I cared to remember.

I was used to anger. It was a feeling that I could embrace, like an old friend. And Christine had angered me. I was not thinking about what the consequences would be of my actions; my only thought was that I refused to lose her. She would pay, and pay dearly, for her deceitful ways.

And I knew exactly what to do.

I sent word to Charles, another traitor, but a useful one, detailing purchases I needed made before the opening of _Don Juan_. When I met him at the Rue Scribe entrance two days before the opening, he was carrying several large bundles.

"Monsieur!" he said as I appeared from the shadows. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Indeed, Charles. It would seem that way." I said dryly.

"Oh, Monsieur, I am so happy, so very happy!" he gushed.

Impatiently I paid him for the purchases, as well as a large salary for his quick service. As I took the packages and disappeared through the Rue Scribe entrance I heard Charles call after me.

"God bless you, Monsieur, and congratulations," he said.

I resolutely ignored the guilty feeling his words evoked as I carried my packages down to my chambers. I took them into Christine's room and dropped them on the bed, trying not to notice that the scent of Christine's perfume still lingered in the air.

One by one I opened the packages. A myriad of emotions crept up, including that wretched feeling of guilt, but I shoved them back down and focused on only one, safe, emotion. Anger. I gladly allowed it to consume me.

I opened the first package and I caressed the fine white silk as I slid the wedding dress onto a hanger and hung it in the wardrobe. I placed the veil on the dressing table, the shoes on the floor and put the bouquet of white silk roses on the dressing table beside the veil. I smiled coldly as I pocketed the last item, a small, black velvet box.

With one last, grim look around the room I walked out and shut the door behind me. It seemed that everything was ready.


	16. Past the Point of No Return

Tension was thick in the air as opening night drew closer. There was a constant feeling of impending doom, though nothing happened. Everyone was edgy as we went about rehearsals. True to his word, Raoul did not allow me to be alone. When he was not at my side, Claudia was. Raoul also implored the managers to move me out of my dressing room and into the common room, where I was constantly surrounded by people. My irritation grew, but it did not matter. Raoul was adamant.

I was a nervous wreck. I could not sleep. Strange nightmares plagued me when I tried to sleep and I developed dark circles under my eyes. I lost weight, as I was unable to eat.

I had the most horrible sensation of sitting on a powder keg, with the fuse burning.

Raoul and the managers went over their plan. They called in the police and hired a trained marksman, who would sit in the orchestra pit with a clear view of box five.

I could not help but hope that Erik would not come to the performance. But I knew it was highly unlikely that he would not come to watch his Opera. And surrounded as I was, I could not even leave to warn him. I had had a million opportunities to warn him and I had not, now it was too late.

The day before the opening rehearsals went quite late. Tempers were short and nerves frazzled. Monsieur Reyer drove us to exhaustion while the managers stood offstage, watching the proceedings grimly. When we were finally dismissed we were told to return early the next day.

The carriage ride to Raoul's home was quiet. Raoul seemed lost in thought and I was still angry with him about the way he was treating me. I felt like an irresponsible child that has to be watched constantly so they will not injure themselves.

He had tried, the first few days after the cemetery, to implore me to talk to him, but I refused and after a few days he retreated into stubborn, stony silence.

"When this is all over, you will thank me," he said suddenly.

I looked up at him, feeling sad. Part of me wished that things could be as they were when we were young, happy and carefree. Until I had met Erik I had been a child, an innocent child unaware of the reality of life. The death of my father had shown me the pain that life could bring, but it was Erik that showed me the darkness and had encouraged me to embrace it. Before Erik I had never given thought to the seductive beauty of the night. Before Erik I had found beauty only the perfection of the day.

Now, now that it was too late, I realised that what I felt for Raoul was just a childish first love. I had confused my affection for him with love.

When we arrived at Raoul's I went directly to my room. Staring at my reflection in the mirror I wondered how on earth either Erik or Raoul could be attracted to an immature little girl such as myself.

I sighed as I sat on the bed. I had the most horrible feeling of impending doom…

X

After a restless night in which I was surrounded by disjointed nightmares, it was time to go to the Opera House for a last minute rehearsal before the opening. It was a sold out show, no doubt there were many that were simply fascinated by what had happened six months previous and were only coming out of morbid curiosity. Either way, the managers were determined to have as normal a show as possible, their hope being to capture Erik at the end and hopefully not have any refunds.

Raoul pleaded with me to eat something, but I could not. My stomach was tied in knots and the thought of eating made me ill.

"Christine, you are going to make yourself sick. Darling, you must snap out of this madness!" Raoul said angrily as I sat at the dining table pushing food around my plate with a fork.

I looked up at him, at the hardened lines and dark bags that surrounded his eyes. It seemed he had aged years since I had first seen him at _Hannibal._ He looked so tired, and I felt guilty, as it was all my fault.

"I am sorry, Raoul. I just cannot. I am sorry!" I said and stood up. I threw my napkin on the table and ran out of the room. He followed me and grabbed my arm as I was trying to go out the front door.

"Christine, I am trying to be patient. You have been through a great ordeal. Please, let us go to the Opera today and by tonight your dark angel will be captured and you will be free. We will be able to marry and get on with our lives."

Raoul's dark eyes were pleading as he held my hands. I took a deep breath. "Raoul…I cannot…"

"No, Christine. Do not say anything more. You have been under a great amount of stress and you are not thinking straight. We will talk later, after the Opera."

Tears filled my eyes as I looked at Raoul. He thought that everything would magically be fine once Erik was caught. And perhaps it would, if only I loved Raoul the way he thought I did. But he was not going to listen to me now. He thought I was still under the Phantom's spell, and nothing I could say would change his mind. He had always been too stubborn for his own good.

Rather that fight, I simply smiled and said, "Of course, Raoul. We will talk later."

He smiled and kissed the back of my hand. "Oh, darling. I love you so. Once this is all behind us we will be so happy."

I gave a tight smile and turned from him. "I must get my cloak," was all I said and I turned my back so I would not have to see the hurt look on his face.

The carriage ride to the Opera House was silent, the air heavy with strain. I refused to look Raoul in the eye and I could sense his frustration.

When we pulled in front of the Opera House Raoul helped me out and held my arm firmly, apparently making sure there was no chance I would try to escape.

He passed me on to Claudia who took me backstage where we were to get last minute instructions and have a quick rehearsal before we had to get costumed.

Time seemed to fly as we rehearsed. When it was finally time to get costumed Claudia came to gather me and hustle me to a dressing room.

She helped me into the scanty Spanish dress and sat me down so she could do my hair and makeup.

"You look beautiful, Mademoiselle," Claudia said when she was finished. She brushed some perfumed powder along the neckline of the dress.

"Thank you, Claudia," I said with a sigh. Once again she had performed a miracle and had hidden the circles under my eyes, and with a touch of white liner around my eyes they looked bright, not dull as they had recently.

"It is time, Mademoiselle," Claudia said when she finished my hair, weaving red flowers throughout the curls.

I stood before the mirror and barely recognised myself. The dress and make up gave me an exotic air. I took a deep breath. Curtain was in twenty minutes. I did not know what would happen, but I feared that it would not be good, whatever it was…

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Fools! I thought. I stood above stage, hidden in the shadows watching Messieurs Richard and Firmin and the Vicomte 'securing' the building. They had not yet opened the doors into the theatre. There were police officers scattered throughout the Opera House, all with explicit instructions on my 'capture'. I laughed cynically as the Vicomte strutted around with the managers, acting as if he were part owner of the Opera.

At the moment they were standing above the orchestra pit. The maestro was standing next to a dour-faced man that was their marksman. The police chief stood with the managers and Raoul. Two of the police officers walked up.

"You understand your instructions?" the chief asked them.

"Yes, sir," one of them replied.

"When you hear the whistle, take your positions. I shall then instruct you to secure the doors. It is essential that all the doors are properly secured."

"Are we doing the right thing, Firmin?" Andre asked in his typical nervous manner.

"Have you got a better idea?" Firmin asked. "Something must be done, Andre."

Andre nodded, still looking nervous.

The police chief turned to Raoul. "Monsieur le Vicomte, am I to give the order?" he asked.

Raoul nodded firmly. "Give the order."

The chief blew the whistle and the police officers fanned out to their assigned spots.

"You in the pit-do you have a clear view of box five?" Raoul asked.

The marksman nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Remember, when the time comes, shoot. Only if you have to, but shoot. To kill," Raoul said severely.

"How will I know sir?" the marksman asked.

"You will know," Raoul said.

Those fools, those insufferable fools! I was tired of them. They would soon learn that they had greatly underestimated the Phantom of the Opera. I slid along the catwalk, lost in the shadows. I went through a secret corridor and ended up behind the curtain in box five.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, are you quite certain this plan will work? Will Miss Daae sing?" Firmin asked.

"Do not worry Firmin. She will sing." Raoul replied.

"My men are in position," the chief said.

"Go ahead, then," Raoul said with a nod.

The chief blew the whistle again. "Are the doors secure?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the auditorium.

There was the sound of slamming doors, followed by shouts of "Secure!" from throughout the room.

Using my ventriloquist skills I said, "I am here, the Phantom of the Opera…" so it sounded as if it came from the opposite side of the stage. The men onstage whirled around and the chief hurried towards my voice.

Snickering at their stupidity I said it again, this time it came from the back of the auditorium. They whirled around again. From the shadows of Box Five I laughed again at the stupefied looks on their faces.

"I am here!" I said again and it came from the direction of the chandelier and they all looked up, identical looks of horror on the managers faces, while Raoul looked simply furious.

"I am here! I am here! I am here!" I shouted again, throwing my voice rapidly from place to place while the confused policemen rushed about trying to find me.

"I am here Messieurs!" I finally shouted from where I stood in Box Five, moving out of the shadows for a split second before I disappeared into the shadows. A shot hit inside the box as apparently the marksman attempted to kill me.

"You idiot!" Raoul hissed. "I told you only to shoot when the time comes!"

"But, Monsieur le Vicomte…" the marksman said, sounding flustered.

"No buts!" I said, my voice filing the room. "For once, the Vicomte is right. You may try to seal my fate tonight, Messieurs, but your plan is futile. I hate to cut the fun short, but this little joke is wearing thin. Why do you not let the audience in and let my Opera begin!" I laughed coldly at the managers horrified faces. This truly was a game they had no hope of winning.

And now, I thought, it was time for the Opera to start and the next part of my plan would not come until later. For now I would watch the idiots ruin my Opera.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Don Juan_ had gone on without a hitch. Despite the incident that had happened before curtain, the production had gone on with no problems. Meg had been talking to her mother, Madame Giry, backstage when it happened.

"It was the Phantom," Meg told me, her eyes wide. "His voice came from throughout the entire building! And he sounded so angry!" Meg shuddered delicately.

My arms crawled with gooseflesh at her words and I felt cold. He was planning something, of that I was certain. But what? I was now certain he knew exactly what the managers and Raoul were planning. I felt a sense of relief at the thought, but I was sure that we had not heard the last of Erik. I remembered his fury at my father's grave with a shiver. No, we had not heard the last of him, and the feeling of some impending disaster only grew within me.

But despite my certainty that something would happen, the opera had gone on without a problem. I kept glancing at the new chandelier, half expecting it to start swinging, but it did not. In fact, the only problem had been Piangi's singing.

Finally it was the last scene and I finally began to relax. Perhaps I had been wrong. Maybe Erik was not planning anything. Surely he would have acted before now, I told myself as I waited backstage for my cue.

In the final scene of _Don Juan Triumphant_ Don Juan and Passarino make their plans to deceive Aminta. Aminta thinks that Passarino is Don Juan, but Don Juan wants Aminta, so Don Juan wears a hooded cloak so she will not recognise him.

The duet between Don Juan and Aminta that followed was a passionate, wanton song. The words had brought a blush to my cheeks more than once in rehearsals. Despite Erik's admonition to not judge the song and to just sing it, the raw, lascivious words were hard for me to sing, and it was impossible for me to feel the words and to sing it as if I meant it. I had not sung the song to Erik's nor Monsieur Reyer's approval once. Now, singing it before an audience, knowing that Erik was certainly watching from Box Five, I was nervous, almost to the point of being ill.

I looked up suddenly. Lost in thought, I had almost missed my cue. Reyer gave me a nudge and I sang from offstage,

"_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy!_

_No dreams within her heard but dreams of love!"_

Don Juan dismissed Passarino, who passed me as I walked onstage, my steps light. I walked across the stage, waiting for Don Juan's entrance. I took off my cloak and se it down. I looked around and then took an apple from a bowl on the table and walked around, tossing it in the air.

From behind me I heard the swish of curtains as Don Juan came onstage. I gave a broad smile and started to turn when Don Juan began singing.

"_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge_

_In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent, silent…"_

My eyes widened and I froze in place. It was Erik! He was wearing the black robe, the hood covering his face. But his voice, his beautiful, eerie voice, wound around me and I was frozen in place, my heart pounding loudly. The feeling of impeding doom crashed down around me as I realised that whatever he had in mind, I was helpless to resist, helpless to do anything but go along with him or risk revealing him to the police, to Raoul and the managers. Where was Piangi? I thought wildly. What had he done to him?

I walked to him, trying not to show that anything was wrong. I kept smiling, kept acting the part.

"_I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me_

_Dropped all defenses completely succumbed to me_

_Now you are here with me, no second thoughts_

_You've decided….decided…." _Erik sang, his voice deadly.

For the first time I found myself truly listening to the words. I felt them and realised something. The words were not Don Juan's words to Aminta. The words were wild, passionate and full of temptation. They were Erik's words….to me.

"_Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_The games we've played till now_

_Are at an end…_

_Past all thought of if or when_

_No use resisting_

_Abandon thought and let the dream descend…."_

Until now Aminta was to be flirting coyly with Don Juan, always keeping just out of his reach. It was hard not to betray myself, but I kept on with the act. I walked to the table and sat at the bench. Erik stood next to me. He reached over and gently caressed my cheek.

"_What raging fire shall flood the soul?_

_What rich desire unlocks its door?_

_What sweet seduction lies before us…?"_

His hand slid along the neckline of the dress, his sensual touch sending flames of desire through me. I stood up. With that piece Don Juan puts his arms around Aminta from behind. Shaking, I stood in front of Erik and felt his strong grip on my hips. I put my arms up behind me to caress his head over the hood of the cloak. I shivered as I felt the mask.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold._

_What warm unspoken secrets will we learn?_

_Beyond the point of no return…"_

I slipped out of Erik's grip and walked to the table. My heart was pounding and my mind was reeling. My throat was dry and I swallowed.

"_You have brought me,"_ I sang.

"_To that moment where words run dry_

_To that moment where speech _

_Disappears into silence, silence…"_

I sat on the bench, my legs slightly apart. Always before I had been too embarrassed to perform this part the way it was written and Monsieur Reyer had finally changed it so I could do it. But now I found myself following Erik's instructions. I barely even noticed the audience, it was as if Erik and I were having our final showdown; nothing and no one else mattered. I felt the words as I had been unable to before.

"_I have come here hardly knowing the reason why…_

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining_

_Defenseless and silent and now I am here with you_

_No second thoughts I've decided…decided…"_

Finally I understood the words of the song, finally I felt the longing, the passion in the wanton words I sang. Almost without knowing I sensually ran my hands down the front of my bodice and down my legs as I sang. There was no one else, just Erik and I…

Erik walked towards me and sat at the other end of the bench and I stood and walked behind him. His shoulders were taut, and I could feel his tension….

"_Past the point of no return no going back now_

_Our passion play has now, at last, begun_

_Past all thought of right or wrong_

_One final question…_

_How long should we two wait before we're one…?"_

I sang the words and could hear the challenge in my voice. My own frustration boiled up as I wrapped my arms around Erik from behind. I ran my hands down his arms and clasped his hands in mine.

"_When will the blood begin to race?_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom_

_When will the flames at last consume us…?"_

No longer following the script I pressed my body firmly to his, until surely he could feel my heart pounding. I took his hands and rubbed them sensually along his chest. I heard him gasp and felt him tense up even more. There was an almost electric energy crackling between us and my fingers tingled from his touch.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of my emotions I backed away. Erik stood quickly and grabbed my hands, pulling me towards him. We continued the song in duet. His voice was harsh, sensual.

"_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed _

_So stand and watch it burn_

_We've past the point of no return…."_

Our voices merged, pouring together perfectly, as if made for each other. He was still holding my hands, pulling me closer to him while my heart raced and desire flooded through me. We were facing each other, though I could not see his face through the cowl of the robe.

There was a moment of tense silence in which we stood. I was unaware of my surroundings. All I could think of was Erik, standing before me. "Christine…" he said softly.

"Christine, please say you will come with me. Save me from my solitude," he said.

Time seemed to stop. There was no trace of anger or hatred in his voice. Rather it was soft, caring, almost pleading. He released my hands and quickly pulled the black onyx ring from his little finger. I was standing, frozen in place. He took my left hand and slid the ring onto my finger. "Please say you will stay with me, say you will be mine, say you will stand by my side," he said. "Christine, that is all I ask of you."

Tears filled my eyes at his words. He wanted me! He did not despise me. I was filled with such relief, such joy. There is only one thought in my mind. I had to see him, I had to see his eyes, to make sure he meant his words and that this was not all part of some elaborate scheme.

I was not thinking. Everything faded from view except for Erik. I reached towards him and gently pulled the hood of the robe back, taking the mask with it. I just wanted, no _needed_, to see him, to show him I feared him no more.

The instant his face was revealed I realised what a horrible mistake I had just made. I put my hand to my mouth and my eyes prickled with tears. I heard gasps and screams from the audience, and saw from the corner of my eye that Raoul and the managers and the police were scurrying about, Raoul shouting at the marksman to shoot, but I was standing between Erik and the orchestra pit. Erik's eyes were wide with anger and confusion and his breath came in sharp gasps as he stared at me. In his eyes I could see how betrayed he felt.

"No," I whispered frantically, taking a step back, but he reached for me, grasping my wrists firmly, almost painfully. I had to tell him the truth, but before I could say another word there was a scream from behind Erik. I turned towards the curtained alcove where Don Juan, Erik, had been hiding. A police officer was holding the curtain back, revealing Signor Piangi splayed across the bed, clearly dead.

"Oh my God!" Andre shouted.

There was pandemonium. The audience began screaming and rushing to escape. Carlotta came running from backstage, screaming in Italian.

Erik stared coldly at me and pulled me roughly to him. He pulled the robe around us and we slipped through the crowd and through a hidden door backstage. I had never seen such fury in his eyes before and I was terrified of what he was going to do…

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"_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy!_

_No dreams within her heard but dreams of love!"_

Christine's voice was bright as she came onstage. I waited for a moment before I stepped from behind the curtain. She had her back to me, taking an apple from the table.

I took a couple of steps towards her and she kept her back to me.

"_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge_

_In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent, silent…"_ I sang softly with a touch of menace behind my words. Christine froze as she recognised my voice. Now was the moment of truth. She could either scream, revealing me to the managers or she could play my game with me. It was in her hands. 

We stood, facing each other, for what seemed like an eternity before Christine smiled broadly and walked towards me. I could see the barely concealed panic in her eyes.

I continued the song. Christine's nervousness, her unmistakable tension filled me with a heady feeling of power.

She followed my lead and we continued our little game. She met my eyes with a bold defiance as if she knew full well that I had half expected her to scream and turn me over to the police. I could sense her growing confusion as she listened to the words, as she began to lose herself in my song.

When the time came for me to caress her cheek I did so, trying not to notice how my fingers tingled as they brushed across her soft cheek and down her neck and along the neckline of the scanty Spanish costume. She shivered beneath my touch and when she looked up at me her green eyes were fiery with desire.

She stood and I put my hands on her hips and she reached up, winding her hands around my neck, stroking my face and the mask through the robe's hood.

I watched as she continued her part of the song. I barely heard the words she sang as she sat on the bench, her hands sliding along the sides of her bodice and down her legs. I noticed her voice change, deepen slightly as she sang.

I felt a definite changing in the emotion between us. It altered and shifted, throwing me off-balance. I sat at the end of the bench and she came to stand behind me.

She was supposed to merely slide her hands down my arms, but instead she clasped my hands in hers and caressed my chest, pressing her body firmly against mine. I could feel her trembling as she held me and my heart practically stopped. Suddenly she backed away from me and I stood quickly and grabbed her hands, pulling her towards me as we finished the song in duet.

"_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed _

_So stand and watch it burn_

_We've past the point of no return…."_

Her eyes were blazing with an emotion I could not read as we faced each other. My heart was pounding as I stared at her, at the look in her eyes that almost seemed as if it could be love.

"Christine," I said softly. I would give her this last chance to come to me willingly, one last chance to show me where her heart truly lay.

"Christine, please say you will come with me. Save me from my solitude," I pleaded gently. Her eyes were wide, open, with no trace of fear or hatred. Feeling an unmistakable hope, I took the black onyx ring from my little finger. I gently pulled her hand to me and when she did not pull back I slid the ring onto the ring finger of her left hand.

"Please say you will stay with me, say you will be mine, say you will stand by my side. Christine, that is all I ask of you," I said, holding my breath.

She stared at me, not moving. Behind her I could see the managers and Raoul talking frantically. They knew something was wrong, but they did not know exactly what.

And then, lightning quick, she reached for me and the hood and mask were gone before I even knew what she was planning. She stared at me, the look on her face quickly changing from one of wonder to one of absolute horror as she looked at my face. She put her hand to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. Apparently she had forgotten the horror of what I looked like, lost in the spell of my voice as she had been.

The scheming little vixen! I thought furiously, glaring at her. She had revealed me to the entire Paris Opera House, to the police, to the managers and to the Vicomte de Chagney.

How could she have done it? Knowing that she was signing my death warrant, she had exposed me with no apparent thought and no apparent remorse. I was beyond furious. She was a far better actress than I had given her credit for. I had thought, in my supreme stupidity, that I had seen desire in her eyes. I had thought from the way she sang, the way she moved that she had finally succumbed to me. How completely stupid I felt standing there with my face naked, listening to the screams of panic from the audience. It brought forth an onslaught of memories. My mother's disgust as she looked at my unmasked face, the looks of horror on the faces of countless people staring at me through the bars of a cage while I was with the gypsy's and Luciana backing away from me in terror across the verandah to her death. And of course, the look on Christine's face after she had removed my mask the first time. Between that and the fact that she had denied me, betrayed me over and over again, I felt myself snap.

My anger flared up, consuming me completely. Her eyes were wide as she stared at me.

"No," she whispered, backing away from me. I grabbed her wrists, holding her tightly so she could not get away from me.

Just then Piangi's body was found and in the ensuing panic I grabbed Christine and escaped with her through a hidden passageway backstage, disappearing in the panicked crowd.

I had been stupid enough to give her yet another chance. I would not make the same mistake again. She would pay for this, I vowed. She would pay dearly. She would not get another chance to betray me.


	17. Down Once More

Like a fire burning out of control my fury overtook me, and I allowed it. Better to be consumed by anger than allow Christine's most recent betrayal to hurt me. She would not hurt me again, and the only thought in my mind was to hurt her as badly as she had hurt me.

I pulled her roughly behind me down once more to the lake, to the darkness that had been my life for so long. She did not struggle, just allowed herself to be pulled along, sobbing quietly. The noise was beginning to grate on me.

"Stop your sniffling, child. Do you not know that that sniffling is not becoming for a lady? Oh, but neither is lying, and yet you do that quite well, do you not?" I said coldly. We reached the boat and I all but shoved her into it. She cowered at the front of the boat, looking back at me fearfully.

"But Erik," she whispered.

"No. No, Christine. Please spare me your pathetic excuses. I do not want to hear it," I said bitterly as I pushed the boat from the dock.

Christine was sobbing and shaking, looking around frantically and for a moment I thought she would leap over the edge of the boat and into the water.

"I would not do that," I said icily. "I am not in the mood to fish you out of the water, and I rather think you would be wise not to anger me further."

She did not reply, merely flinched away from the fury in my voice.

When we reached the other side of the lake I stepped lithely out of the boat. I roughly pulled Christine out after me and pushed her ahead of me into my chambers.

"Come, Christine," I said, leading her into her bedroom. She followed me meekly, still trembling. Her fear only served to annoy me further.

I walked into the centre of the room and opened up the wardrobe. I removed the gauzy white wedding dress and held it out to her.

Her face paled and she backed up, her green eyes wide and fearful. "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked.

"Put this on," I snarled. "And I would not do anything foolish if I were you, my dear."

She took the dress reluctantly, looking down at the white lace in horror.

"I think you will find everything you need," I said, waving a hand towards the dressing table as I left the room. Christine was still sobbing, looking horrified. "And be quick about it," I added as I stepped out the door.

"Why are you doing this?" I heard her whisper as I shut the door firmly behind me.

I paced the chamber like a caged tiger. My heart was racing and I felt myself sliding deeper into the madness that had overtaken me.

A few moments later the bedroom door opened. Christine walked out wearing the exquisite wedding dress. It was cut in the most recent Parisian fashion, made of the finest silk and lace. It complemented her beauty and elegance, and my heart skipped a beat as I looked at her. Until I looked at her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was so pale that it blended into the neckline of the dress. She was holding the veil and bouquet. Her eyes held a thousand emotions. Fear, confusion, hurt and anger.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her with me to the centre of the room. I pushed her in front of me and she stumbled and fell to the ground.

"Have you satisfied your craving for blood?" she asked scathingly, her eyes flashing with anger. She stared up at me accusingly. "Or am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?"

I gave her a sardonic smile. "My fate which condemns me to the darkness has also denied me the joys of the flesh," I said coldly. I was beyond reason, beyond control, and my only thought was that I had to have Christine, no matter what the cost. I was through playing games, through trying to be patient.

"My face, Christine, it is only my face that poisons our love," I said. I stooped down and picked up the veil which had fallen to the floor. I stepped towards her and she cowered on the floor. "My mother feared me, loathed me, Christine, all because of my face. I did not ask to be born, and yet I have been condemned for my entire life because of that unfortunate event. Do you know what the only gift was that I received from my mother?" I asked Christine as I pulled her roughly to her feet. "A mask. My only gift from her, my first scrap of clothing. She told me she had to make a mask so she could even bear to hold me. She was a beautiful woman, Christine, very beautiful. I daresay that she could hardly bear the thought that something as hideous as me could have come from her."

Christine's eyes filled with tears.

"How would you have liked to have been locked in a cage, like some kind of monster? How would you have liked to have spent your life being mocked and ridiculed? You have no idea what it is like, Christine," I said scathingly. "You are beautiful. What do you know of hatred and cruelty? You have never had to live in the darkness; you have never had to live in fear of the day."

Christine just looked at me, her eyes full of pity, which only angered me. I placed the veil on her head. "Pity comes too late, Christine." I said angrily. "Turn around, face your fate. An eternity of _this_ before your eyes," I said, turning her to face me. I leaned towards her with the disfigured side of my face, expecting her to flinch away from me, but she just looked at me evenly, a tear sliding down her cheek. I handed her a bouquet of white silk flowers tied with a white satin ribbon and she took them reluctantly.

"Your face holds no horror for me, Erik," Christine whispered sadly, her face mere inches from mine. Then her eyes flashed with anger and fear. "It is in your soul that your true distortion lies," she said scornfully.

We stood, staring at each other and I could feel that I was perilously close to the edge, holding onto sanity by a thin thread. I felt my madness eating at me and I willingly embraced it. I was beyond reason and beyond caring.

Just then I heard a noise coming from behind us. I turned around and saw Raoul stagger up and grab the bars of the gate that blocked him from my chambers. He was in his shirtsleeves; wet, dirty and disheveled, he looked nothing like the arrogant slave of fashion that he normally was. He was clearly furious and he rattled the gate.

"I think, my dear, that we have a guest!" I said. I turned and sat gracefully in my throne chair. I leaned back casually. "Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come," I said with mocking politeness. "And now my wish comes true! You have truly made my night!"

Christine was watching me, seemingly frozen. She still clutched the bouquet and though she had stopped crying she was still trembling. She had not looked at the Vicomte yet.

"Free her!" Raoul shouted. "Do whatever you want with me, but let Christine go! Have you no pity?"

"Your lover makes a passionate plea," I said dryly to Christine, who stared at me angrily before she turned and threw the flowers aside and ran to the gate. She reached through to take Raoul's hands through the gate while I watched her with narrowed eyes.

"Please, Raoul. It is useless!" she sobbed.

"I love her! Does that not mean anything to you? Show some compassion!" Raoul cried passionately.

I leapt out of the chair and whirled on Raoul, who stared impassively at me. Christine shrank back as I stepped towards them. "The world has shown _me_ no compassion!" I snarled angrily.

"Christine!" Raoul said. "Let me see her!"

"Be my guest, _sir_," I said mockingly. I walked to the gate and touched a hidden lever and the gate creaked upwards. I gestured Raoul through as if he were a favored guest at a party. He scrambled underneath it and scooped Christine into his arms. Another wave of icy fury crashed over me as I watched them cling to each other.

"Monsieur, I would like to bid you welcome!" I said with a sardonic smile. "Did you actually think that I would harm her? Why, may I ask, should I make her pay for your sins?" I asked. With a lightning fast flick of my wrist a thin length of rope snapped from beneath my cloak. The Punjab lasso wrapped itself around Raoul's neck and I flipped the other end around a beam and tied the end down. It was not tight enough to kill him. Yet.

"What I would like to know, Monsieur le Vicomte, is how you found your way to my chambers?" I said, walking lazily towards him.

Raoul struggled at the end of the noose while Christine frantically tried to remove the noose, to no avail.

Raoul glared at me. "It would seem you choose your confidante's unwisely. Madame Giry was told by an old friend of yours how to reach your chambers."

I forced myself to appear calm, though I was enraged. "Is that so?"

"Indeed. And she is gathering a group to come down here to find you. You will be held accountable for the murders." Raoul said. "You will not escape this time, even if you kill me."

Charles, I thought bitterly. He must have told Madame Giry more than she had let on that night he was here, drunk. And he had betrayed me, despite how well I had compensated him for his services.

My mind worked frantically. I was not sure how much time I would have before they would find us.

"Nothing can save you, Monsieur, except perhaps Christine," I said.

Christine stared at me in confusion.

"Start a new life with me, Christine. Buy his freedom with the promise of your love," I said, staring into Christine's wide eyes. "Refuse me and you will send your lover to his death." I waved my hand carelessly at Raoul, who was choking and sputtering, his eyes horrified. "That is your choice, my dear. _This_ is the point of no return!"

Christine turned from Raoul and walked slowly towards me and her expression hardened. She stopped directly in front of me and lifted her chin and met my eyes. "I may have pitied you, Erik. But any tears I might have shed for you and your dark fate have grown cold. Any tears I shed for you now will be tears of hate!" she said, her voice harsh, unforgiving.

I stared at her as her words sank in and I felt something inside of me crumble, but I ruthlessly forced the feeling back.

"Oh, Christine, forgive me! Please, forgive me! I did it all for you, and it was all for nothing!" Raoul cried, his voice strained.

Christine continued to hold my gaze, her expression unreadable.

"You have shattered so many of my illusions," she said softly.

"It is too late for turning back now," I snapped, my eyes flashing dangerously. "It is too late for useless pity."

"Say you love him and my life is over," Raoul choked. "Either way you choose, you cannot win!"

"So, Christine, do you end your days with me, or do you sent him to his grave?" I asked loudly while Christine stood, her face growing paler, her hands shaking.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" Raoul asked, still struggling. "For pity's sake, say no! Do not throw your life away for my sake, Christine! I could not bear it!"

"His life is the prize which you must earn, Christine," I said. "You have past the point of no return."

"Erik, you were my Angel of Music. You deceived me! I blindly gave you my mind, my life! And it was all lies, Erik! All the murders; Buquet, Piangi and who knows how many more….and for what, Erik? Why, why did you do it?"

I walked towards Christine and look into her eyes and see her hurt and confusion, but most of all I see her anger, which I matched with anger of my own. She talked of deception after all she had done to me! She had revealed me in front of the entire Paris Opera House. The only thought in my mind was revenge, to make her pay.

"You try my patience," I said coldly, glaring at her. "Make your choice."


	18. The Final Threshold

I stared at Erik, my eyes wide. He had gone mad. I could see it in his eyes. They glittered dangerously with anger.

"Put this on," Erik said, holding out the very lacey white satin dress that was clearly a wedding dress. "And I would not do anything foolish if I were you," he warned.

I reluctantly took the dress, looking down at it in horror. What was he planning?

"I think you will find everything you need," he said, motioning towards the dressing table. There was a gauzy veil draped across the top of the table and a pair of high topped white leather shoes sat on the floor next to the table.

I sobbed. What had I done? I had driven him to this with my foolishness, with my fickle ways!

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, but he shut the door firmly, ignoring my words.

I stood, frozen, staring at the closed door, my mind spinning. How could I have been so stupid, taking off his mask like that? What had I been thinking?

I had not been thinking, obviously. I had been so drawn to him I had forgotten where I was. All that had mattered was Erik, and showing him how I felt about him. Now he hated me, how could he not? No doubt he thought it was planned all along. No doubt he thought I had been working with the managers and Raoul. Oh, I had made a fine mess of things this time, no doubt of it. He would never believe me now! He would think I was just toying with him again.

My mind crowded with memories as I slid into the wedding gown. I shivered as I recalled his touch, the sensual way he had sung to me.

Then I thought of Signor Piangi and I was thrown right back into confusion. Erik had murdered the man so he could take his place. Tears stung my eyes. Piangi had been a fool, that much was true, but the man had not deserved to be murdered. And, once again, it was all my fault! Twice now Erik had murdered because of me. The man was clearly mad and very dangerous.

But I knew I cared for Erik. No, I knew now that I loved him. I loved the gentle way he had taught me, guided me. I loved his wit, I craved his darkness. But he was a murderer. How could I live with that, knowing that Buquet's and Piangi's deaths were my fault?

I stood before the dressing table's mirror, studying my reflection. The dress was exquisite, and very obviously worth a fortune. It was made of the finest silk and the most delicate lace. It was cut in the most expensive, newest fashion. I took a deep breath and picked up the bouquet and veil before I opened the door and stepped in to the main chamber. I had no idea what he planned to do.

Erik turned when he heard the door open and watched me as I walked towards him. I knew I had to talk to him, but the words would not come. I felt tongue-tied and stupid.

He grabbed my arm and pulled into the centre of the room. He stopped and pushed me roughly in front of him and I stumbled and fell on my knees on the hard floor.

"Have you satisfied your craving for blood?" I asked angrily. "Or am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought about them. I realised too late that baiting him was probably not the best thing to do.

He flashed me a nasty grin. "My fate which condemns me to the darkness has also denied me the joys of the flesh," he said coolly. His brilliant blue eyes were icy.

"My face, Christine, it is only my face that poisons our love," he said calmly as he picked up the veil and bouquet which I had dropped when I fell. He stepped towards me and I cringed. He was out of control and I feared what he would do.

"My mother feared me, loathed me, Christine, all because of my face. I did not ask to be born, and yet I have been condemned for my entire life because of that unfortunate event. Do you know what the only gift was that I received from my mother? A mask. My only gift from her, my first scrap of clothing," he said bitterly as he reached down and pulled me to my feet. "She told me she had to make a mask so she could even bear to hold me. She was a beautiful woman, Christine, very beautiful. I daresay that she could hardly bear the thought that something as hideous as me could have come from her."

My eyes filled with tears at his words. I was horrified. How unbelievable tragic! What kind of chance did he have at a normal life when his own mother had treated him so?

"How would you have liked to have been locked in a cage, like some kind of monster? How would you have liked to have spent your life being mocked and ridiculed? You have no idea what it is like, Christine. You are beautiful. What do you know of hatred and cruelty? You have never had to live in the darkness; you have never had to live in fear of the day," he said cynically.

I was overwhelmed by a rush of pity. Erik looked at me for another minute before he put the veil on my head, his movements stiff with anger. "Pity comes too late, Christine. Turn around, face your fate. An eternity of _this_ before your eyes," he said, turning me roughly to face him. He leaned towards me, his face inches from mine.

I looked steadily at him, willing myself to be calm, but a tear still slid down my cheek. He handed me the bouquet, a beautiful bouquet of white silk roses tied with a white satin ribbon, and I took them.

"Your face holds no horror for me, Erik," I whispered sadly, looking into his eyes. "It is in your soul that your true distortion lies," I said, my voice bitter.

We stood, staring at each other, the silence heavy throughout the chamber.

Then a noise came from the archway that led to the lake. Erik whirled around. I looked over and saw Raoul standing at the gate. He was wet; apparently he had swum across the lake. His hair was mussed and he looked panicked and incredibly angry.

"I think, my dear, that we have a guest," Erik said lightly. He turned and sat in his throne chair. "Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come, and now my wish comes true! You have truly made my night!" Erik's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

I watched Erik carefully, frozen where I stood. My throat was dry and my hands were shaking.

"Free her!" Raoul shouted. "Do whatever you want with me, but let Christine go! Have you no pity?"

"Your lover makes a passionate plea," Erik said dryly. I glared at him and threw the flowers aside and ran to Raoul. I was terrified of what Erik had planned and what was going to happen to Raoul. Raoul, my dear childhood friend. I did not love Raoul, except perhaps with the fondness of old friends, but I knew what Erik was capable of and I could not bear it if Raoul was killed just because he loved me.

"Please, Raoul, it is useless," I sobbed as I reached through the gate to take his hands. If only I could get him to leave.

"I love her!" Raoul cried. "Does that not mean anything to you? Show some compassion!"

Erik leapt out of the chair and turned his deadly glare on Raoul, who held his gaze evenly. I shrank back as Erik strode towards us, radiating danger and absolute fury. "The world has shown _me _no compassion," Erik spat.

"Christine! Let me see her!" Raoul demanded.

"Be my guest, sir," Erik said with mocking graciousness. The gate began sliding up and Erik motioned Raoul through. Raoul scrambled underneath it and gathered me into his arms. Erik watched with narrowed eyes.

"Monsieur, I would like to bid you welcome! Did you actually think that I would harm her? Why, may I ask, should I make her pay for your sins?" Erik asked with a cunning smile. His hand lashed out and before I could make a move Raoul was hanging by a thin noose, his feet still touching the floor but the rope cutting into his neck.

Panicked I tried to get the rope loose but I could not. It was too tight and the cord was sharp, cutting into my fingers. My mind was working furiously while Erik and Raoul exchanged words. What could I do?

I looked up as Raoul told Erik that Madame Giry was forming a group to come after him. How much time did we have and how could I untangle this muddled mess?

"Nothing can save you, Monsieur, except perhaps Christine," Erik said finally.

I looked over at him, confused.

"Start a new life with me, Christine. Buy his freedom with the promise of your love. Refuse me and you will send your lover to his death," he said, waving his hand at Raoul who was struggling at the end of the noose. "That is your choice my dear. _This_ is the point of no return!"

My mind reeled from the cruelty of his threat. I walked slowly, resolutely, towards him. When we were face to face I lifted my chin and met his gaze. "I may have pitied you, Erik. But any tears I might have shed for you and your dark fate have grown cold. Any tears I she for you now will be tears of hate!" I said harshly.

Erik stared back at me, and for a brief second his cold façade fell and for an instant he looked like a hurt, lost little boy. Then the wall of anger veiled his eyes again and he stared at me unemotionally.

"Oh, Christine, forgive me, please forgive me! I did it all for you and it was all for nothing!" Raoul cried suddenly, his voice strained.

"You have shattered so many of my illusions," I said softly, still holding his gaze.

"It is too late for turning back now," Erik said furiously. "It is too late for useless pity."

"Say you love him and my life is over. Either way you choose you cannot win!" Raoul said.

"So, Christine, do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave?" Erik taunted.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" Raoul asked, struggling. "For pity's sake, say no! Do not throw your life away for my sake, Christine! I could not bear it!"

"Erik, you were my Angel of Music. You deceived me! I blindly gave you my mind, my life! And it was all lies, Erik! All the murders; Buquet, Piangi and who knows how many more….and for what, Erik? Why, why did you do it?" I asked suddenly, wanting to understand.

Erik walked towards me, his eyes flashing with rage. "You try my patience," he said coldly. "Make your choice."

I took a deep breath as my anger began to wane. Deep down, I understood Erik's motives. He had gone about things so completely wrong, but I knew that he had never been allowed to have a normal life. I remembered the screams of the patrons of _Don Juan Triumphant_ when they had seen his face. What had it been like for him, to have had everyone terrified of him, disgusted by him because of his face? I thought of my father, of our close, loving relationship. Erik had never had that kind of love. Of course he would think he had to hide from me, to pretend he was my Angel of Music. I remembered my initial reaction to his face with shame. It had horrified me, and yes, disgusted me. It was unfair, I knew that, but I could not change my first response. Since then I had learned to look beyond his disfigurement.

Erik had murdered twice since I had met him. I had no doubt that it had happened before, probably more times than I cared to know. But could I really judge him? He was right; I had never had to live with the burden that he bore. I could not imagine living with what he had lived with. I remembered what he had said earlier about being locked in a cage. How could I judge his actions?

There was a stinging behind my eyes as I began to cry, thinking of the life that he had lived. I stepped towards him, feeling an overwhelming rush of love for him. Somehow, the rest did not matter. His methods had been twisted, but I understood his motives. He loved me, I knew that now. He loved me with a desperation that I could hardly bear. My tears fell as I reached a hand out to his face and stroked it gently.

His eyes flashed with confusion and suspicion, but he did not pull away from my touch.

"Oh, Erik," I said softly. "How can tell you? God, give me the courage to show you that you are not alone…" I said as I reached for him.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away as I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him and our lips met.

Erik froze and I could feel his whole body stiffen in confusion as I kissed him. He pulled back and I looked at him. His blue eyes were wide and vulnerable as he stared at me. His mouth was slightly open in awe.

I put my hands on his face and drew him back towards me and kissed him again. He tentatively put his arms around me, barely touching me. As I deepened the kiss he shuddered and then, as his resolve crumbled, he pulled me to him, holding me tightly as the kiss went on.

When I finally drew back my heart was racing and little flames of desire were burning where he touched me. I met his gaze unflinchingly, my hands still on his face, my fingers lightly caressing his scarred cheek. He looked deep into my eyes, his gaze questioning. He was trying to see if there was any revulsion in my eyes, but I just looked at him steadily, lovingly, willing him to believe me, to feel my love.

His eyes were filled with emotion. I saw his hope, his fear and his disbelief. But above all of that I saw the absolute adoration in his eyes as he looked at me.

I smiled tremulously, waiting as he sorted out his feelings.

The moment was broken as Raoul gasped and sputtered, writhing against the noose. My eyes flickered towards him. His face was white, and he looked horrified, disgusted. "No," he whispered. "No, Christine. Do not do this!"

When I glanced back at Erik his face was blank, expressionless. The fire that had always burned in his eyes, whether it was with anger or passion, was gone and his eyes were dull. The longing and the love that had been there moments before was gone, a horrible emptiness in its place as he looked at me.

From somewhere beyond Erik's chambers voices could be heard, shouting. "We will track down this murderer! We will avenge Piangi! We will avenge Buquet!"

The mob, coming after Erik. They were getting closer. Most likely they were making their way down through the many levels, through the corridors.

He took a deep breath and stepped away from me. I felt cold without his arms around me. He looked at me for another long moment while silence surrounded us. Then, as if he had made a decision, he turned and walked towards Raoul.

I followed him fearfully. What was he going to do to Raoul? He reached for the noose and Raoul struggled frantically. His movements stiff, Erik untied the rope and pulled it free of the beam it was hanging over. Raoul yanked the noose off and pulled me into his arms. I struggled to get free of him. "Oh, Christine, Christine. Why did you do it? Why did you throw your life away? I cannot bear the thought of you staying with this monster so I can go free," Raoul whispered in my ear.

"No," I said, trying to push him away. Raoul had it all wrong. I had not done what I had done only to save Raoul's life! How could he not understand that?

Erik was watching us silently. His face was completely blank and the energy, the power that had surrounded him like a cloak was gone, it had disappeared like so much frost in the light of morning and he suddenly looked old and very tired.

"Take her," Erik said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Forget me and forget all of this."

"What?" I gasped, breaking out of Raoul's grip.

"Leave me alone, forget all you have seen," Erik said mechanically.

"No," I whispered.

Raoul was tugging at my sleeve. "Christine, come with me. Now."

"Go now. Do not let them find you here," Erik said with a slight break in his voice.

"Erik, no! What are you doing?" I cried.

"Take the boat, leave me here. Go now, do not wait," he said, refusing to look at me.

"Please, Erik!" I said.

"Christine, I appreciate your devotion to the Vicomte," he said, glancing at me. "I appreciate that you were willing to lie and pretend to love me to spare him. But the Vicomte is right. What kind of love would I have, knowing I only had you because you loved him enough to throw your life away for him? I do not want you to lie to me."

"But…I-I am not lying!" I said shrilly.

Erik smiled, a ghost of his normal smile. "Christine, you are free. Forget me, forget all that has happened. I will not hold you to my insane demands. Just go."

I stood, staring at him, my mouth open. "Erik!" I whispered.

Raoul grabbed my arms. "Come, Christine," he said firmly.

"No!" I shouted, struggling against him. "NO!"

"Just take her and go," Erik told Raoul. "Before it is too late. Before I change my mind and do something I will regret. Just go! _Go now and leave me!"_ Erik's voice broke with emotion as he stepped forward menacingly. His eyes blazed again with anger and hurt. "GO! LEAVE ME!" he roared.

Raoul looked at me and pulled me into his arms while I struggled. "Christine, you are not thinking. We must go," he said and, carrying me away from Erik, he hurried me out of Erik's chambers. I looked over Raoul's shoulder. Erik was doubled over next to the organ, his shoulders heaving. Raoul hauled me through the archway towards the boat.

I stopped struggling. Erik's voice, tight with emotion, carried from his chambers. "You alone could make my song take flight, Christine, my love. It is over now….the music of the night."


	19. No Going Back

Christine stood, watching me. My last words hung in the air between us._ "Make your choice!"_

It was silent. Raoul had stopped struggling and was watching Christine intently.

Christine was clearly struggling with an internal battle. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears as she watched me. My heart thudded loudly in my ears as the silence went on. She took a step towards me and her tears fell, spilling onto her cheeks. She stopped in front of me and looked up at me. She reached out her hand and touched my cheek, gently stroking her fingers along the scars. Her eyes bored into mine, such a deep emerald green, filled with such emotion.

I did not move, just waited, suspicious. "Oh, Erik," she said softly. "How can tell you? God, give me the courage to show you that you are not alone…"

I wondered at her words and before I knew what was happening she leaned towards me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and our lips met in a kiss that was so electrically charged that I half expected both of us to burst into flames.

I stood stiffly in her arms, confused. It was the first time in my entire life that I had been kissed. Before the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_ no woman had ever willingly touched me.

My heart raced and I pulled back from her slightly. She looked up at me and met my gaze and I stared at her in amazement. She took my face in her hands and drew me to her, kissing me again. I cautiously put my arms around her, and as she deepened the kiss I shuddered, my determination to stay detached crumbling as I pulled her close to me, loving the feeling of her in my arms. She was so soft, so delicate, and yet she clung to me with amazing strength.

When she finally drew back I could barely breathe, and I was in total disbelief. I looked questioningly into her eyes, but she did not look repulsed or disgusted. She did not hurry to back out of my embrace. Instead she just met my gaze, unwavering. She kept her hands on my face, lightly caressing my disfigured cheek. I felt every wall I had ever built crash to the ground as I stared at her as she smiled at me, her eyes shining. I loved her so much in that moment that it was a physical ache.

I hardly dared to believe, to hope, that she loved me….

And then, the connection between us was broken as Raoul, who had until then just been staring, dumbfounded, at Christine, began struggling anew against the Punjab lasso. He was pale and looked absolutely horrified. "No, Christine. Do not do this!" he said desperately.

Christine looked over at him then and I could see her fear and concern for him and I realised the truth. Christine had such a sense of honour and loyalty that there was no way she would have saved herself and let Raoul be killed. I had been a fool to think that she would have actually saved herself and been responsible for his death. So she was willing to sacrifice herself to save him She was willing to be my prisoner, to lie and fake her love for me so I would not kill her lover.

In that moment I felt myself die. I was still alive, but she had just as good as killed me. For I knew that I could never force her to stay with me, pretending to care about me when she would always be longing for Raoul.

I felt cold, empty, like a shell. I loved her so much. I would have given her so much. But none of that mattered. I could not force her to stay.

The sound of voices shouting startled me out of my reverie. It was the mob, drawing closer. They were out for blood. My blood, and I just did not care.

But I could not let them find Christine and Raoul here. I turned from Christine and walked to the Vicomte. Christine hurried after me and I could practically feel her fear and concern. She truly thought I was nothing more than a monster. That I would go back on my word and murder Raoul in front of her.

I took a deep breath and untied the rope. Raoul tore the noose from around his neck and scooped Christine into his arms. He stroked her hair gently and I heard him whisper, "Oh, Christine, Christine. Why did you do it? Why did you throw your life away? I cannot bear the thought of you staying with this monster so I can go free."

I watched them in silence. They truly were a beautiful couple. I could at least be happy knowing that Christine would be loved.

"Take her," I said suddenly. "Forget me and forget all of this."

"What?" Christine gasped.

I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at them any longer. "Leave me alone, forget all you have seen."

"No," whispered Christine, while Raoul watched me warily.

He pulled at her arm. "Christine, come with me. Now."

"Go now. Do not let them find you here," I said, forcing myself to stay calm, forcing the emotion out of my voice.

"Erik, no!" Christine cried. "What are you doing?"

"Take the boat, leave me here. Go now, do not wait," he said, refusing to look at me.

"Please, Erik!" I said.

The poor child. I had either finally driven her to madness or else her sense of honour was amazing. "Christine, I appreciate your devotion to the Vicomte," I said, my gaze flickering up at her. She was standing with her mouth open, staring at me. "I appreciate that you were willing to lie and pretend to love me to spare him. But the Vicomte is right. What kind of love would I have, knowing I only had you because you loved him enough to throw your life away for him? I do not want you to lie to me."

"But…I-I am not lying!" she shrieked.

I smiled faintly. "Christine, you are free. Forget me, forget all that has happened. I will not hold you to my insane demands. Just go."

"Erik!" she said, eyes wide. My chest felt tight and I just wanted them gone. I wanted them to just leave me alone with my pain.

"Come, Christine," Raoul said, taking her by the arms.

"No!" she shouted, struggling. Her eyes were wild as she fought him. "NO!"

"Just take her and go. Before it is too late. Before I change my mind and do something I will regret," I said to Raoul. I just wanted them to leave, I could not bear watching them any longer. I lunged at them. "Just go! _Go now and leave me! _GO! LEAVE ME!" I shouted, shaking with emotion.

"Christine, you are not thinking. We must go," Raoul said as he picked Christine up and carried her away. He did not look back, just ran as if he feared I would follow and snatch Christine out of his arms. I staggered towards the organ and fell against it, doubled over with the pain of watching Christine leave with Raoul. I was sobbing. I had never felt such pain. "No," I whispered. "Oh, Christine, no."

I looked up but they were gone and the only sound was the voices of the mob, drawing ever closer. "You alone could make my song take flight, Christine, my love. It is over now…the music of the night," I said. Then I collapsed and fell to the floor, sobbing.

I do not know how long I lay there. I heard the voices of the mob as they wound through the labyrinth of corridors. I did not care. Let them come, let them have their revenge. It did not matter any longer. She was gone and she would never come back. I thought that surely the pain would kill me, but it did not. I heard the mob draw ever closer and finally something prompted me to get up. I wished for death. I wished for a release from this pain, but I refused to let them win. I refused to throw myself to them like some kind of sacrificial lamb. Death would come the way I chose it to, and that was not at the hands of an angry mob.

I picked myself off of the cold stone floor, my movements' stiff. I walked to the wall behind my organ and pressed a button hidden in the molding that surrounded the archway that led to the kitchen. I hidden door slid sideways and I walked through it and lit the small gas lantern than hung just inside the doorway. The door slid silently back into place. I stood behind yet another two-way mirror that looked into my chambers.

I saw a movement from the direction of the archway that led to the lake. A moment later little Meg Giry crept in, her eyes wide. She tiptoed around the room, looking at everything, She ran her hand lightly across the organ. I was certain Christine had told her of this place, but she looked around in utter amazement. She walked over to the throne chair and picked up the cloak that had been thrown there. Beneath it was my mask. I had barely even realised that I had not been wearing it. Meg looked at it in fascination, holding it up, her mouth open slightly.

Meg jumped up and whirled around as the mob barged through the archway. Madame Giry was in the lead, followed by the managers, several policemen and various other cast members.

"This is his lair," Monsieur Firmin said, looking around.

"Where is he?" the police chief asked Meg.

"I-I do not know. No one was here," Meg said nervously, looking at her mother who frowned at her.

"He must have escaped," said Monsieur Andre.

"Impossible!" Monsieur Firmin said.

"No doubt he will be back," someone else said.

Then they were all talking at once.

"We must destroy everything. When he comes back and everything is gone he will have to leave," said the police chief.

Meg and Madame Giry stood off to the side. Madame Giry shook her head slightly but did not argue. No doubt she thought I deserved it.

With that the mob began destroying my home. They tore up musical scores, shattered my belongings. I watched them numbly. What did it matter? Christine was gone, I had nothing left to live for.

How long I watched as they destroyed my belongings I do not know. My mind was numb and I was empty.

When they had finally destroyed things to their satisfaction they left and I walked out of my hiding spot and waded through broken furniture, shattered glass and scraps of paper than had been years' worth of composing.

I felt nothing. Losing Christine had drained me of emotion. I had nothing left.

I staggered into Christine's room. The door had been shut and for some reason they had not noticed the room and it was completely intact. I made it to the bed and collapsed onto it, willing the darkness to overtake me.


	20. Daylight Dissolves Into Darkness

Raoul carried me to the boat and practically threw me into it. My mind was racing.

"Christine, you are not going back there. You are finally free of him, I will not let you go back," Raoul said suddenly. He was watching me suspiciously as I looked around.

Erik had sent me away! Why? Why did he not believe me when I told him that I had not lied to him? Why had he not believed in my love? There was a sharp pain in my chest and I began shivering and sobbing uncontrollably. How could I expect him to believe me? I had done nothing to earn his trust with my inconsistent ways. Of course he would think that I had only agreed to stay with him to save Raoul. He knew how much Raoul meant to me. He knew of our engagement.

"Oh, God," I whispered as I heard the sounds of the mob from across the lake. They were almost to Erik's chambers. I thought of Erik huddled next to the organ. Would he even try to escape? Would he even try to fight?

"I have to go back, Raoul. I have to go back to him!" I said frantically. "Please, take me back!" "No, Christine. I will not take you back," Raoul said. "He has twisted your mind. You need to just get away from him. Let the police deal with him."

"No, Raoul, you do not understand!"

"I understand, Christine. I understand that he has lied to you, deceived you. I understand that you have been under his control," Raoul said harshly. "I understand that you have not been yourself, my love," he added softly.

I stared at Raoul in disbelief. "No, Raoul, it is not like that!" I said, struggling to my feet, almost tipping the boat over in the process.

"Christine, I swear I will tie you up if I have to. Now sit down! You are not going back there!" Raoul growled.

I sat down slowly. If I thought it would do any good I would have jumped out of the boat, but Raoul would have caught me quickly. I sat in the boat, staring straight ahead, nervously twisting my hands. I could not bear the thought of the mob finding Erik, but I felt completely helpless.

We reached the other side of the lake and Raoul started to step out of the boat. Then he gave me a calculating look and made me get out first.

He kept a firm grip on my wrist as he led us up, taking a different route than Erik had always brought me. I struggled with him at first, but quickly realised that he was too strong for me and that there was no chance I could get free and I gave up in despair. We ended up backstage, coming out of a well hidden door in the wall.

The theatre was empty. Apparently the patrons had all gone, and everyone else was down below going after Erik. I shivered and Raoul pulled me into his arms.

"Oh, sweetheart, this will all be over soon," he sighed.

I wiggled out of his grip and glared at him. "Raoul, please..."

He sighed heavily. "Christine, I know that this has been a difficult time for you. But it is over now, and I will be patient. But you will have to move on."

I looked at him sadly. He would never understand. I did not reply, just looked away.

Raoul led me to his waiting carriage. He held my arms firmly, not allowing me any chance to escape. He was looking very protective, as if I were a small child that needed to be coddled.

The carriage ride was silent. Raoul watched me carefully while I just tried to ignore him. I remembered the ring that Erik had slid onto my finger and looked down at it. The onyx glinted up at me and I felt an overwhelming sorrow as I looked at it. When we reached Raoul's estate he led me into the house and into the kitchen, still holding me tightly. He sat me at the table and called his maid to fix a pot of tea.

I sat at the table, staring into space, memories flooding over me. I shivered when I remembered the feel of Erik's lips on mine. What was I doing here? What on earth was wrong with me? I loved Erik, not Raoul and yet, like the foolish child that I knew I was, I had allowed Raoul to lead me along, obeying his orders.

It would not continue. I would go back to Erik, beg him to believe me, beg him not to send me away again. I had just gathered up the courage to stand up to Raoul when the maid put the tea set in the middle of the table and handed me a cup.

"You should drink it, Christine," Raoul said, reaching out to hold my hand.

I pulled my hand away from his, stubbornly ignoring the hurt in his eyes. The tea smelled wonderful and as I wrapped my cold hands around the cup I decided that a cup of tea before I left would be a good idea, as I had not eaten or drank anything all day.

I sipped the tea, which had a different sort of sweetness to it. After a few moments I felt my eyelids growing heavier and heavier. I was so tired! I struggled to stay awake, but felt myself sliding towards a peaceful oblivion.

Raoul took the teacup and scooped me up. "I have just given you a little something to help you sleep, my love. You have had an exhausting day."

"What?" I said, trying frantically to wake up.

"It is all right, Christine. You need some sleep," Raoul said softly.

I tried to fight the sleep, but I felt the darkness drawing closer and closer, and then, all was dark.

X

I was surrounded by mist; dark, swirling mist that rose up around me like a shroud. I walked forward, trying to find my way, but there was nothing. Then, as I turned, I saw a figure walking towards me. It was a man in a bright costume, wearing a glittering black mask. He came towards me and stopped in front of me. There was something sinister about him and I looked up at him fearfully. I reached out and ripped off his mask, but there was another mask, this one red. The man just stood there, unmoving. I ripped the red mask off and there was a yellow one. Over and over I took off his mask, only to find another one beneath it. I began to panic and turned to run, but when I turned around I found myself in a glittering ballroom, surrounded by dancing couples wearing elaborate costumes and garish masks. They turned to stare at me as they danced past.

I tried frantically to find someone I knew, but I recognised no one. The couples became more menacing and I backed away, trying to get away from them. I opened my mouth to scream and was plunged into darkness.

There was no light, nothing; just an endless expanse of darkness. I groped around, trying to find my way, but there was nothing. Tears prickled behind my eyes and I looked around, panicked. I felt myself sliding into hopelessness.

Then I looked up. There was a light in the distance, drawing near. As it came closer I saw that it was a lantern. I could make out the form of a man in black carrying the lantern. As he held the lantern up the light glinted off of his snow white mask.

Joy bubbled up inside me.

"Erik!" I cried, taking a step towards him. "Erik!"

"Christine, wake up."

My eyes flew open, the dream vanishing as I struggled to focus.

Raoul was standing over me, watching me. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked quite anxious.

"Raoul?" I mumbled.

"I am here, darling," he murmured, taking my hand.

My mind reeled as memories assaulted me. Don Juan Triumphant. The wedding dress. Raoul, hanging from the noose. Erik's and my kiss, Erik sending me away, Raoul drugging my tea. And the dream. Erik, the light in my darkness.

I struggled to sit up, practically slapping Raoul's hand away from me.

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked as the last of the shadowy dream disappeared. I was in a guest bedroom at Raoul's estate, still wearing the wedding dress.

"Two days," Raoul said stiffly, pulling his hand back. "You were exhausted."

Two days! I thought. It had been two days since Erik had sent me away. I moaned. If anything had happened to him I did not know what I would do.

"I have to go," I said, struggling to stand.

"No, Christine. You are not going anywhere. You are in no condition to leave."

"I do not care!" I snarled, pushing him away. I had reached the end of my patience with Raoul de Chagney.

"Christine, you are tired, you should rest," Raoul said calmly.

"Stop patronizing me, Raoul!" I snapped. I stood up and Raoul followed, standing in front of me.

"But, Christine, you do not know what you are saying," Raoul said, confusion clouding his dark eyes.

"Oh, Raoul. I do know what I am saying. I do not love you," I said with a sigh, my anger dissolving.

Raoul shook his head. "That is impossible."

I sighed again. "I know it is hard for you to understand, but I love Erik. I always have. I was just confused."

"You agreed to marry me, Christine," he said, eyes narrowed.

"I know I did. I was scared. I am so sorry."

Raoul watched me carefully and I could see his anger, just beneath the surface of his calm expression.

"So you are saying it was all a lie, then?" he asked.

"No, Raoul. I care for you, I do. I always have. But I am not in love with you. We were the best of friends, Raoul, and I loved you once, but we were children."

"You actually mean to try to tell me that you love that monster?" he asked incredulously. He still looked as if he did not really believe me.

"He is not a monster, Raoul. He is just a man, a man who has lived a horrible life. But I love him. I do," I said firmly.

Raoul shook his head and laughed humourlessly. "Perhaps you should take some time to think things over."

"I do not need to. I love him," I said resolutely.

Raoul looked at me. "So you are going to throw away your life to live with this...man. He is a murderer, Christine."

I looked away, unable to look at him. "I know," I said softly. "But that changes nothing."

Raoul turned around and slammed his hand into the wall. "Damn it, Christine! I love you. I have always loved you. And now you tell me you love another. After I have seen him control you, manipulate you, you expect me to just forget it and just let you go?"

Tears filled my eyes at his angry words. "I am sorry, Raoul. I am so sorry I hurt you!"

"Well, sorry is not enough, Christine. I cannot allow you to..."

"It is not your decision," I interrupted. "It is not up to you to allow or not allow anything. It is my life."

"And you are throwing it away! For God's sake, Christine, what kind of life could you possibly have with this...thing? You will never have a normal life!"

"Raoul, it is not your choice," I repeated, my frustration growing. "It is mine. I love him and he loves me, that is all that matters."

Raoul laughed cynically. "He does not love you, Christine. He is obsessed with you."

I sighed heavily. Every second that I stood arguing with Raoul was more time for Erik to think that I had betrayed him again.

"I will not argue any more. I am going," I said, and tried to slip past him.

He grabbed me by the shoulders. "Do not do this, Christine. Do not throw away what we could have," he said desperately, his anger vanished.

I took a deep breath. "Good-bye, Raoul," I said and slipped free of his grasp. I turned and walked away and I did not look back.


	21. In Pursuit of Your Deepest Urge

Once I had walked away from Raoul, I felt the most overwhelming sense of freedom. I remembered that I was still wearing the wedding dress, which was now rumpled and dirty. I looked down at it sadly and hurried downstairs. Almost as an afterthought I took a small oil lantern from a front table.

I half expected Raoul to follow me. But as I thought about it more, I realised that I had injured Raoul's pride, and that he was far too arrogant to let a little thing like me leaving him bother him for too long. He had said his piece, asked me to stay. It was not in his nature to beg and plead. He would find another woman, hopefully one more suited to his station in life than I.

I ran outside and hailed a carriage.

"The Paris Opera House," I said breathlessly as I climbed in.

The driver gave me a speculative look; no doubt I looked a mess. My hair was wild, my make up had to be terribly smudged, and of course there was the wedding gown.

I ignored the driver and he slapped the reins over the backs of the horses and the carriage jostled forward.

My heart was racing as we drew closer to the Opera, closer to Erik. I tried not to allow myself to think, but worries crowded my mind.

What if he was dead?

No, I forced myself not to dwell on that thought.

What if he was gone, or what if he truly did not want me? He had sent me away, what if he had really decided that I was too much of a foolish child?

I started to sob, as I thought of all that could be wrong, that if he were dead he had died not believing in my love for him.

The carriage rumbled to a stop and I looked out the window at the magnificent building that was the Paris Opera House. I paid the driver from the purse that I barely remembered picking up before I left Raoul's. The carriage drove off, leaving me in front of the Opera.

I took a deep breath and walked inside.

It was quiet. The silence was eerie. I knew the managers were probably around somewhere and I hoped I would not run into anyone.

I hurried to my old dressing room. I walked through the door and bolted it behind me. A thousand memories assaulted me. How clearly I remembered the first time I heard his voice as he spoke to me as my Angel of Music. I had been a child then. I had been full of sorrow and self-doubt. Erik had given me the courage to spread my wings and fly. No matter what happened, I would always be grateful to him for that, and for showing me the beauty of the night.

I felt slightly ill as I stood before the mirror. I had tried to open it before and had been unable to. This time I could not fail.

Trying to remember where he had touched the frame to open it, I lightly ran my fingers along the intricately carved wood. Methodically I looked over the mirror. I would search every single inch if that is what it took.

My frustration grew as I failed to get the mirror open.

"No," I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. My hands started to shake as I realised that if I could not get the mirror open I would have no chance of finding Erik. I clenched my jaw as I told myself stubbornly that if it came to it, I would throw my dressing table's chair through the mirror if that were the only way to get through.

With a small click that I almost did not notice, the mirror suddenly slid sideways. I stood, dumbfounded, for several seconds before I really realised what had happened.

My heart leapt into my throat as I lit the oil lamp with shaking hands. I walked through the mirror and it slid shut behind me. Somewhat panicked I realised that if I could not find Erik I would probably be lost in the catacombs until I died.

Resolutely I held up the oil lamp and began walking. The air was cold and musty and my footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor. Down I went, down the five levels to the banks of the underground lake.

The boat was still sitting where Raoul had left it over two days ago. I lit the lantern that hung on the front of the boat, untied the boat from the dock and carefully climbed in. I picked up the heavy pole and clumsily pushed the boat away from the dock.

The trip across the lake seemed to take forever. I was weak and clumsy as I tried to pole the boat across the inky water. I seemed to be barely moving but my arms and shoulders ached from the effort and I was soon out of breath.

When I finally saw the opposite bank, I cried in relief. I would not have been able to go much farther.

The boat bumped into the dock and I scrambled out, my skirt trailing into the water. I awkwardly tied the boat down and took the lantern from the bow. My hands were raw and blistered but I ignored the pain. My heart was racing again as I walked cautiously down the corridor towards the archway that led to Erik's chambers.

The gate was still up, I noted as I walked through the archway.

It was dark. There were no lamps lit, so I made my way to the candelabras and lit them. The room lit up and I looked around in horror.

Everything had been destroyed.

Tears coursed down my cheeks as I saw all of Erik's belongings shattered and scattered about. The magnificent organ was in pieces and there were pieces of parchment ripped up and scattered liberally over the ground.

I reached down and picked up one of the pieces.

"_You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge,_

_In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent..."_

I recognised the words immediately from _Don Juan Triumphant_. I felt a sharp pain as I realised that everything that Erik had held dear had been in these rooms, and apparently the mob had decided to destroy everything. All of the trinkets, all of his belongings lay crushed and broken on the floor.

"Oh, Erik," I whispered. "Erik, my love."

Where was he?

I crept around the room and through the kitchen. There was no sign of life, only the total destruction. Through the kitchen I went through another archway that led to another room, one I had never been in.

Erik's room.

It too had been ruined. I looked around the gloom and was startled when I saw that there was a large coffin in the centre of the room.

A coffin! I thought, my mind reeling at the sight. I walked warily towards it and, holding my breath, I looked inside.

It was empty. I sighed in relief. It seemed that the coffin was actually a bed. It had a mattress and red satin sheets, which had been shredded. His clothes were strewn about, also shredded.

I crept through the room, but there was nothing that could be salvaged. I suddenly stepped upon something that shattered under my foot. I looked down and found a picture frame lying face down. I gingerly picked it up and turned it over.

It was a double frame with two tin daguerreotypes. The glass was broken and I tipped the remaining shards out and studied the pictures. In one half there was a very handsome man with dark hair and a moustache wearing a suit. The other half was a woman. At first glance, she seemed quite beautiful. She had pale hair, most likely blonde, pulled up in an elaborate, outdated style. She was wearing a high necked, old-fashioned dress. The thing that I noticed the most, however, was her eyes. They were pale, probably blue, and her expression was icy. Her eyes were cold, with tight lines around them. Her lips were pinched together in a sour grimace. Whatever beauty she seemed to have at first glance was lost once I studied her closer.

Judging by the style of her dress, I figured the pictures to be quite old. They must have been Eriks' parents. With a disgusted sigh I let the frame drop to the floor. The woman should have been punished for the way she had treated her son.

I left Erik's dark tomb-like room and walked back into the main chamber. There was only one room left. My room.

I pushed the door open and light spilled into the darkness. The room seemed intact, the only room that had not been destroyed by the mob. My heart jumped into my throat as I saw a figure sprawled face down on the bed.

"Erik!" I cried, running to the bed.

I looked down at his still form, horrified. My vision clouded with panic, I could not tell whether or not he was moving.

"Oh, Erik, Erik!" I sobbed. Tears ran down my cheeks as I reached out and touched his hand, which was ice cold. "No," I gasped. "No, no!"

There was a dull roar in my ears as I gently rolled him over.

He was not wearing the mask, but I did not even notice his face. The only thing that I noticed was the ever so slight rise and fall of his chest.

He was alive.


	22. Let Me Be Your Light

I was surrounded by darkness. This, in itself, was not unusual. I had always belonged more to the dark than the day.

This was a different sort of darkness, though. Where darkness had always been a solace before, this darkness was no comfort. It was hard for me to tell where I ended and the darkness began.

I fell in and out of nightmares. I saw the faces of my past, gliding in and out of my shadowy memory. I wondered vaguely if I was dead. I figured it would be fitting if hell was nothing more than an eternity spent in the darkness visiting every painful memory that made up my life.

I heard the shadowy whispers of voices from my past. I saw them. My mother, threatening to send me to an asylum, my mother holding a mirror in front of my naked face. Marie Perrault, whose face turned white whenever she caught my eye. Erik dear. She had always called me Erik dear.

Disjointed memories of sensual gypsy women dancing, Giovanni taking me under his wing, hoping to save my poor, wicked soul. Luciana staring at me, telling me to take off my mask.

Persia and Nadir. The torture chamber. The Punjab lasso. Faster and faster the memories assaulted me, crowding me.

Christine, looking at the mirror in rapt fascination, speaking to her 'Angel of Music.' Christine planning her escape with Raoul. The chandelier, shattering with a sound like a waterfall.

Christine returning to me, against all odds. _Don Juan Triumphant_ and the electrical, sensual performance of _Past the Point of No Return_. Raoul, showing up to ruin everything, Raoul hanging by the Punjab lasso. My ultimatum, my threats. Christine's kiss. Christine leaving, once more, with Raoul.

I moaned. Would I spend eternity seeing her in Raoul's arms? Would I spend eternity imagining their life together, their love?

Love, a truly poisonous emotion. A deadly poison, one that tricks you with sweetness as the poison slowly kills you.

Christine had left and I had nothing left to live for. Christine, how I had loved her...

"Erik! Erik, please, wake up!"

Through the mist a voice called me. All I wanted to do was sleep, go to sleep and never wake up. I wanted to be free of my wretched memories, my wretched past. All I wanted was relief, and yet I knew I would never have it. I did not deserve it.

"Erik!"

My fevered mind betrayed me, giving me Christine's voice, thick with worry. I wanted to laugh. Christine, worried? About the Angel of Death?

"Please, Erik, please wake up!"

Behind my closed eyes I saw a glimpse of light. I forced my eyes open and saw the flickering light of a candle.

And, slowly swimming into view as my eyes focused, there was an angel. A beautiful angel in white, an angel that looked just like Christine.

A cruel joke. I could not be in heaven, so this had to be just one more aspect of hell. To be tortured with a vision of Christine, sick with worry about me. To be tortured with what would never be, what could never have been.

"Go away, leave me," I mumbled, closing my eyes. My body felt as if it were on fire. Of course, hell does have flames...

"Erik! I am not going to leave!"

Christine never sounded that stubborn. Christine, a beautiful, wilting flower, waiting for water and sun so she could grow and blossom.

I willed myself to go back to sleep, back where there was just old memories, long past. Better that than to be tortured by the vision of Christine.

"Do not die on me, Erik! You cannot die on me!" the Christine Angel said shrilly.

I opened my eyes again. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over me, her long hair brushing against my face. So soft, and with the faint smell of lavender. Lavender flowers meant love, I thought, remembering back to some sort of book or another that I had read. Ironic, I thought, inhaling the sweet scent. She reached down and gently stroked my cheek. She was very solid for an angel, I thought incoherently.

"Drink this," she said, and then there was a cup of broth being held to my lips. I could not seem to lift my head, but I opened my mouth and swallowed the hot broth. I could only manage a few sips and my eyes were too heavy to keep open.

I drifted back into sleep.

I do not know how long I slept. My dreams were strangely real. Dreams of Christine. Dreams of being coddled and cared for. I heard Christine sing and I saw her lovely face fade in and out of the dark.

When I finally awoke again I opened my eyes and looked around. My head was pounding and I felt weak. I looked around. I was in Christine's room, in the large four poster bed. There was a lantern lit on the table beside the bed.

The room was empty.

I sighed. I did not know what had happened. I had vague memories of Christine leaning over me. A dream, a lovely dream was all that it had been.

But I was still alive, when all I had wished for was death.

I was struggling to sit up when I heard a noise from the other room. I looked over and the door was opening.

My jaw dropped when Christine walked through the door, carrying a tray.

"Christine?" I asked dumbly, my voice rough.

"Erik!" Christine cried. She dropped the tray and its contents shattered on the ground. She ignored it, however and ran to my side. She looked down at me. "Oh, Erik, you are finally awake!"

My brain seemed to be lagging. I was still stuck on the fact that I was awake, seemingly alive, and Christine was standing next to the bed looking lovely yet tired, wearing a soft pink gown that I had ordered for her. One that had been in the wardrobe.

"Why are you here?" I asked. "Why are you not with the Vicomte?"

"Erik, please, stay calm," Christine said soothingly, her emerald eyes reflecting her worry.

"Calm?" I repeated. "You left with the Vicomte."

"You sent me away!" Christine protested, her eyes wide.

I shook my head and immediately regretted it, as my head felt like it was about to split in two. I squeezed my eyes shut briefly against the pain.

Christine seemed to give herself a mental shake and then looked at me calmly. "Erik, please, you need to stay calm and get some rest."

"What day is it?" I asked. I felt confused and completely helpless.

"It is Saturday," she answered.

"Saturday?" I repeated stupidly. How I wished this bloody fog that seemed to be surrounding me would go away. It had been a week since _Don Juan._ A week since Christine had left with the Vicomte. I had thought to be dead by now.

"You have been unconscious for the better part of five days," Christine added softly.

"Why are you here?" I asked again. "Surely the Vicomte cannot approve."

"I-I left Raoul," Christine said, looking away.

"Why?" I asked. "You won your prize, saved his life and I did not even force you to stay with me. What possible reason could you have for coming back here?" I said, my voice sharp. Tired and weak as I was, I still managed to get a good amount of fury into my voice.

Christine flinched as though I had hit her. Then she clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "You are in no condition to be talking, Erik," she said, her voice strangely commanding. "I will go fix you some broth. You need to rest." With that she went to clean up the dropped tray and hurried out of the room.

What on earth was she doing here? I thought. She had gone, with Raoul. She had left me. I sighed. It seemed she had come back to be my nurse, and a stern one at that. But I was far too tired to try to figure it out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I hurried out of the room. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep a hold of the tray. I went into the kitchen and hurried to fix more broth.

He was awake. He was awake and alive, and angry. How could I blame him? No doubt he wondered at my motives, wondered why I was here.

And I was too stupid to know how to tell him the truth. Looking into those cold blue eyes I had felt every ounce of self-confidence drain out of me and I just could not say the words. I had thought myself to finally be a woman, strong and self-assured. And yet, looking into those eyes so full of suspicion and doubt, I had withered like a dying rose.

I love you. Such simple words, and yet words that could change lives, change hearts. It would change everything between Erik and I. No longer would we be hunter and prey. No longer would we be the Angel of Music and foolish child. At least, if he could ever learn to believe me.

I sighed as I poured broth into a cup and arranged it on the tray with a cup of tea. I pressed my lips together and tried to gather my courage. It would not be easy facing Erik. It never had been.

Walking slowly I crept through the main chamber, trying to gather my courage. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door into my room. Erik was sitting up and he looked over as I appeared. Even from across the room I could see the fire in his blue eyes, burning straight through me.

I forced a wobbly smile and walked over to him. I set the tray on the bedside table and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. His eyes followed me, his expression completely unreadable.

"Here, drink this," I said, holding the cup to his lips.

He drank it warily and I could see his anger and frustration at needing my help. He said nothing, just obediently drank the broth. When he finished I held up the cup of tea. He looked down at it questioningly. It was an odd greyish colour.

"It is your Russian tea," I explained. "I was not sure how to fix it."

Erik arched an eyebrow and his eyes glinted slightly. Was it amusement?

He took a sip and was unable to hide the shudder that resulted. "Perhaps you should stick to regular tea," he said lightly.

I sighed. "You will have to tell me how to make it correctly," I said.

"For now regular tea will be just fine," Erik said. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Get some rest," I said softly.

His eyes fluttered open and I saw a flicker of emotion, gone too quickly for me to read, before he shut them again. Suspicion and doubt radiated from him.

When his breathing had evened out and he was asleep I gathered up the dishes and went back into the kitchen.

I finished cleaning up and walked slowly into the main chamber. I had been at Erik's side most of the time, but I had been trying to clean up all that the mob had destroyed when I could. I had not gotten far as they had done quite a thorough job.

With a weary sigh I collapsed in Erik's throne chair. My thoughts were scattered.

I had never felt such a feeling of relief before as when I had first seen that he was still alive. I had thought that the mob had found him, beaten him and left him for dead. But he seemed to have no physical injuries, yet he remained unconscious. I had thought and thought and the only conclusion I could come up with was that he had lost the will to live.

Guilt coursed through me at the thought. It was entirely my fault. And when he soon became feverish I knew that if he died it would be my fault. His death would be on my hands and I knew I could never forgive myself.

I had spent the next days wiping his fevered face with a cold, wet rag. I forced him to drink broth. I cared for him the best I could in my inadequate way. I had cried and prayed, begged to whatever God would listen to spare him.

It seemed that my prayers had been answered. My Angel had pulled through. But he did not trust me, that much I could tell. I sighed. Would he ever learn to trust me again? Over and over I had shattered his trust. He had no reason to believe me.

It would not be easy to regain his trust, I realised. It would not be easy to rebuild the bridges that I had burned when I had left with Raoul. He had sent me away, that is true. But had I been a strong woman and not a weak little girl I would have been stubborn and stayed anyway. He would not easily be convinced that I loved him, that I desired him, that I wanted to be with him.

But I was no longer a child. I knew what I wanted and I would get it, I vowed. I would make him see, no matter how long it took.

X

When I walked into Erik's room several hours later he was still sleeping. I sighed and walked to the bedside and looked down at his sleeping form. A warm feeling spread throughout me as I looked at him. How strange it seemed to me to be the one caring for him, looking out for him. I wondered vaguely if he had ever had anyone look out for him before. I knew so little of him, of his life. The fragments that he had told me over the course of the months since I had first met him made little sense. I just hoped that in time he would come to trust me, to open up to me. There was much hurt inside Erik and I only hoped that I could be the one to help him heal.


	23. Building Bridges

When I awoke the next morning I was alone once more. I still felt the effects of the illness that I had caught. My entire body was sore and I was weak and tired. I cursed my body for betraying me like this. To show this weakness, this vulnerability, to Christine was unbearable.

There was a little tap on the door before it swung open and my nurse walked in. She gave me a bright smile. "Good morning, Erik," she said and I just glowered at her.

She ignored my look and set a tray of food on the bed next to me. "Here you are," she said. "I fixed regular tea today, so I hope it is better than my attempt at Russian tea!"

Apparently she was determined to be cheerful. I sighed. "Thank you," I said tonelessly.

Christine's bright smile faltered for a second. "You are welcome. Do you need anything else?"

"Nothing you can give me, I fear," I said with another sigh.

She gave me an assessing look and started to say something. Then she looked away. "I will check back in a while," she said finally and turned and left the room.

"Christine, wait," I said suddenly.

Christine turned, an eager look on her face. "Yes?"

"My mask...Will you bring it to me?" I asked awkwardly. I hated facing her without it.

Her eager expression fell. "Certainly," she replied and walked out of the room. She returned a moment later with the mask in her hand.

"Here," she said, her voice sharp. "Take it. Hide behind it if that is what makes you happy." She dropped the mask onto the bed and stalked out of the room, shutting the door with a bang.

I stared at the closed door behind which she had just disappeared. What on earth was that all about? I wondered, shaking my head.

I felt like my emotions were having a battle. Part of me was suspicious of her. She had returned to me, and yet she had returned to me several times before, only to go to back to Raoul. She was here, caring for me, and yet I knew of her incredible sympathy, her amazing sense of caring and responsibility. And I also knew how incredibly guilty her conscience was.

The other part of me was filled with an emotion that was little known to me. Hope. I could not help but have a little glimmer of hope that all I had felt from her while we sang our duet in _Don Juan Triumphant _was not an act. I did not want to believe that the emotions that had poured from her as she kissed me were false. I did not want to believe her capable of such deception, and yet I could not trust her.

Too many times before in my life I had given my trust, only to have it shattered like a dropped glass.

While I had planned my revenge I had told myself that I would not let her hurt me again. While I picked out the wedding dress and decided that I would make her mine no matter what the cost, I had not cared if she got hurt. Like a wounded animal I had snapped at the thing that was hurting me.

Uncomfortably I remembered trying to force her to stay with me by using the Vicomte as leverage. I had known that Christine's heart would not allow her to let the Vicomte die just so she would live. It was a moot point when she had kissed me, and I had realised it immediately. As much as I craved her, craved her love I knew that I could not hold her to my ultimatum, so I had made her leave.

I had never entertained the idea that she would return to me of her own free will and now that she was here I did not know what to do, what to think. My suspicions and doubts ate at me and being stuck in this blasted bed was not helping my temper.

I glanced over at the bedside table and saw that Christine had removed the Persian monkey music box and had set several books there instead. I picked one up and opened it, touched at her thoughtfulness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I walked out of the room, all the while a voice in the back of my mind was yelling at me, asking me what in the world I had been thinking, snapping at him like that. But I was so frustrated!

I had not told Erik how I felt about him.

I had been determined to do it. I had been determined to not let another day go by without telling him. But the words had just frozen in my throat when he looked at me with those intense eyes, so full of anger and bitterness. What little courage I had thought I had mustered had withered underneath the heat of his resentment.

I had realised something. He was already on edge from being stuck in bed. He was angry and he hated showing weakness. His wanting his mask back had only shown me that he did not trust me. Why else did he refuse to think that I was not bothered by his face? I sighed. Of course he did not trust me. I had given him no reason to.

No matter how much I wanted to tell him how I felt, I just could not do it. Not now. I would wait to talk to him when he was feeling better, I decided. Then perhaps he would be more open to listening to me and believing what I had to say. And perhaps by then I could gather up my courage once more.

X

It was easier said than done, I realised two days later. Erik was still being difficult and the days had been...trying. No matter how hard I tried to show him that I cared he constantly rebuffed me. He barely spoke to me and rarely even looked at me. And when he did speak to me he was usually cryptic.

Collapsing into the throne chair, I sighed. I was certain that he would be out of bed the next day. His strength was back and it had only been my protests that had kept him in bed this long.

Then what? I thought wearily. I knew I had to talk to him, and yet I was terrified to. What could I say to make him trust me? Would he ever trust me again or had I ruined our chances?

I fell asleep with those thoughts running through my mind.

I was startled awake the next morning by a rustling sound next to my face. I looked up from where I had fallen asleep in the throne chair and saw Erik standing next to the chair, watching me intently.

"Erik!" I said, scrambling up. "You are up! How are you?" I asked anxiously as I stood, facing him.

"I am feeling better," Erik said. He looked away for a minute before he turned back to me. Then he took a deep breath. "Thank you for caring for me while I was ill," he said with his now-familiar emotionless voice. "But I am better and you may leave now."

"What?" I asked, staring at him.

"You may leave. I am well now; there is no need for you to stay."

His voice was flat and there was a glint in his eyes.

"But..." I said.

"I am certain that the Vicomte must wonder where you have been. I certainly do not want him to come looking for you," he snapped and with that he tossed me a dark look and turned. He strode through the archway to the kitchen and I heard his door shut.

I sank down into the chair. It seemed every time I gathered my courage and convinced myself to talk to him, something like this happened. I was not even sure whether he even still wanted me.

I was frustrated, angry and tired. I walked out of Erik's chambers and stood on the bank of the underground lake, tears stinging my eyes. I truly was a fool. Why was it so hard for me to just tell him? Why could I not be firm? Why did I have to be so nervous and timid?

With a sigh I sat on the cold stone floor and stared out at the water. Pale light from a torch rippled across the inky water and the only sound was the quiet splash of water on the bank. What was I doing? My life was such a mess and I just did not know what to do about it. I loved Erik, but I was beginning to doubt if he loved me still. Perhaps I had ruined everything with my childish foolishness. Perhaps it would be best if I just left...

Suddenly I stood up. Enough! I thought. I was not going to play the wilting flower anymore. Erik had taught me how to spread my wings, to believe in myself. It was time I tried to fly.

I walked determinedly back into Erik's chambers. I walked through the main chamber, through the kitchen and stood in front of his bedroom door, heart pounding in anticipation.

I took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door.

There was silence before the door finally swung open, revealing an irritated Erik. "What?" he snapped.

"E-Erik," I said. Then I took another deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Erik, I..."

I looked into the depths of his icy blue eyes. They glowed with anger and another emotion not so easily defined. Sadness, perhaps?

"Are you ready?" he asked coldly, politely. "I will take you across the lake if you are."

"No, I am not," I said stupidly.

He raised an eyebrow and gave me a look as if I were a particularly dim-witted child. "Is there something that you need? A suitcase perhaps?"

I pressed my lips together, frustrated. He was not making this easy.

"Erik..." I said again.

"Yes?" he replied.

I gritted my teeth. "Erik, I love you!" I blurted out.

The expression on his face did not change. In fact, had it not been for the flicker of surprise that I briefly saw in his eyes I might have thought I had just told him his tea was ready for all the reaction he gave.

Silence fell heavily between us as we stared at each other.

"Miss Daae, have you been into my wine collection?" he asked sardonically.

I gaped at him, tears of frustration and anger prickling behind my eyes.

"Erik!" I said.

"Child, I have already told you. I do not want your sympathies, nor do I want your pity," he said flatly.

I realised my mouth was still hanging open and snapped my jaws shut.

"But I love you!" I cried. "Why do you not believe me?"

"Believe you?" he repeated incredulously. "What reason do I have_ to_ believe you? As I recall, you have made plans to leave, to make your life with the Vicomte. You came back, I can only assume to be part of the plot to rid the Opera House of the Phantom. And you then made your choice to stay with me only because you wished to save your arrogant lover. I do not even know why you returned again, other than I would guess that you were to turn me over to the authorities. What happened, did your sense of honour prevent you from turning a man on his deathbed into the police?"

His voice had turned colder and harsher with each word so that when he finished I was flinching back from his anger, which pulsed around him.

Tears streaked down my cheeks as I shook my head. "It is not like that!" I protested.

"You have given me no reason to think otherwise," he stated, his voice calm once more.

Our eyes met. "I stayed with you, Erik. I have done nothing but try to help you," I said softly.

"And I have done nothing but wonder what your motives are," he shot back.

"My only motive is that I love you!" I cried.

There was another silence and then, as if a curtain was drawn, the fire in his eyes faded and he looked at me tiredly.

"I do not believe you," he said quietly.

My heart was pounding and I was still crying, but I took a step towards him. He flinched slightly but did not move as I reached for him. I took his hand and looked up at him.

"Then let me prove it to you, Erik. I love you," I said softly and leaned up to kiss his cheek.


	24. Saviour

She leaned towards me and gently kissed my cheek, holding my hand all the while. My heart was thudding loudly and I fought the urge to just wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. My mind was running in frantic circles, torn between wanting to believe her and not wanting to be hurt again.

When she pulled back she looked intently into my eyes. I forced myself to remain calm, to not show her how confused, how utterly torn I felt. Her green eyes were wide and vulnerable, but she gave me a gentle smile. Memories rushed at me, memories of seeing her face, hearing her beautiful voice for the first time. I remembered how she had looked as I had tutored her as the Angel of Music. But most of all I remembered her clinging to Raoul on the rooftop, planning her escape from the wretched Phantom. And although she had come back, she had stayed all this time with me, the walls I had built were still firmly intact around my icy heart. I did not trust her, and I knew in that moment that if she truly meant the words that she had said, she would have to prove it.

I pulled away and glared down at her.

"Please, Erik, please believe me," she said softly. "I am not going to leave."

"I would like to be alone," I said sharply and turned away from her before the emotions that threatened to overtake me became obvious. I shut the door firmly between us, ignoring how my heart cried out at the bewildered and shattered look on her lovely face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The door shut firmly in my face and I sighed heavily. How would I ever show Erik how I felt about him? It was starting to look impossible.

I walked slowly back into the main chambers and looked around. I had cleaned up as much as I could. There was just too much that had been completely destroyed. I had put pieces of the organ in a pile and cleaned up as much of the destroyed music as I could. That was the worst as I knew how much of Erik's life had gone into the compositions.

Of course I could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt over the destruction of Erik's home. Had I not been such an idiot it would never have happened. But my inability to choose between Erik and Raoul had brought this on.

I thought of Raoul and hoped that he was well. He had loved me, of that I was certain. But there was none of the depth in his love that I had felt from Erik.

Erik. Thinking of him brought a sharp pain in my chest, as if my heart was constricting. I loved him so much! And he did not trust me. Would he ever? I wondered. Would he ever let go of his fears and let me love him? I did not know.

I sank into the throne chair. It would be easy for me to give up. As it was, I had my heart on the line and I had no idea how he felt.

But I was tired of taking the easy way out. I had done it too many times before and I would not do it again. I was not by nature a stubborn person, but I knew that my determination was strong.

I would prove myself to Erik.

I would not give up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I did not come back out of my room that day. I figured that in the time she had been here she obviously knew her way around and could easily fend for herself, as I did not trust myself to be near her. My feelings were too close to the surface, threatening to boil over with the least provocation.

When I finally ventured from my room the next day I found Christine sitting in my throne chair, calmly reading a book. I had half expected her to be gone.

When she heard my footsteps she glanced over. Her expression was emotionless but she smiled politely. "Good day," she said.

"Good day," I replied, equally as polite and equally as emotionless.

Christine turned back to her book and I stood staring at her for a second longer before I turned around and stalked over to the organ.

Christine had worked hard to restore my chambers, though there was little she could do, as so many of my belongings had been broken beyond repair.

I glanced down at the pile of organ pieces. It did not seem too badly damaged, at least not bad enough that I could not fix it. I had been without my solace, my music, for far too long. I began methodically piecing the organ back together, trying to keep my mind off of Christine.

But I was acutely aware of her, even as I tried to ignore her. Every sniff, every rustle of her dress when she moved and every time she turned a page in the book only served to feed my agitation.

Soon I was working like a madman, obsessed with restoring the organ. The rest of the room fell away as I focused on the instrument. When it was finally back in one piece I stood back and looked at it. It was not restored completely to its former glory as several of the gold pipes were dented and scratched, and there were now scuffs in the once perfect, glossy wood. But as I sat at the bench and set my fingers down on the keys the sound was as beautiful as ever, resonating through the room.

"You fixed it!" Christine exclaimed.

I looked over. She was standing next to the organ, her eyes wide with amazement.

"It would seem that way," I said dryly.

"Will you sing for me?" she asked suddenly, ignoring my sarcasm.

I looked at her in surprise.

"Please?" she said when I hesitated.

I sighed and turned to the organ. I had not played for what seemed like an eternity and I had not sung since the disastrous night of _Don Juan Triumphant._

Unsure as to why I was doing it, I began to play. It was a slow, haunting song, one that I had written not long before the night of _Il Muto_, before she had decided to run away with Raoul. I began to sing.

"_How many times have I_

_Watched you from the shadows?_

_So close to you_

_Yet so very far away_

_The beauty of your voice_

_Awakens me, amazes me_

_You are the light in my darkness_

_You are my shelter from the storm_

_You are everything that makes me be_

_The man I long to be_

_How can I begin to tell you?_

_How can I make you see?_

_You hold my life in your hands_

_And I live only for you_

_Your love has the power to save me_

_From the darkness that I am…"_

Abruptly I stopped playing and stood up and faced Christine. Tears glistened on her cheeks as she looked at me. Her expression was not one of rapt fascination, it was not the expression she had always had when I used my voice to control her. She looked completely lucid and her eyes held a thousand different emotions, and I saw clearly the love in her eyes.

"That was beautiful," she said softly. "What is the name of it?"

"It is called _Saviour_," I said shortly.

"You wrote it?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. Did she realise that the words were for her? Did she have any idea that _everything_ I did was for her? She truly was my saviour, in so many ways. She had saved me from the darkness and she had saved me from myself. Before Christine I had merely existed, growing colder and lonelier with each passing day. Christine had brought me out of the darkness, given me a reason to live.

Suddenly panicked by the intensity of my emotions I started to walk away.

"Erik!" Christine said, grabbing my arm as I brushed past her.

I whirled around and glared furiously at her.

"Erik, do not leave," she pleaded, tugging at my coat sleeve.

"What is it Christine?" I snarled.

She flinched away from me slightly, then suddenly she stood up straight and released my arm, her eyes narrowed. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her side.

"Erik, do not walk away from me again," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

I clenched my jaw. "What?" I said again.

"Erik…" she said softly. She looked down for a second and then looked up again and stared straight into my eyes. Her green eyes were bright and her expression was fierce, completely unlike her normal meek expression. She took a deep breath.

"Damn it Erik, I love you!" she said harshly.

I stared at her in shock, my eyes widening both at the intensity of her words and at her curse. I had never heard her speak this way before.

"I love you and I am not going to leave you no matter how hard you try to push me away. Do you understand? I love you and I am not going to leave! You can continue to be disagreeable, you can continue being stubborn but I am not going anywhere!" She glared at me and brushed her hair out of her face.

"I came back to you because I love you," she said. "I left Raoul because I do not love him. I was confused before, and I was weak. I admit it. I was afraid to face the truth and I was afraid because my whole life has been spent doing things the easy way. I have never worked for anything, until I met you, until you pushed me to excel.

"The only reason I did not come back sooner is because Raoul drugged my tea He thought he was doing what was best for me. I came back as soon as I can. I have no ulterior motives, I am not going to lead the police to you.

"Now, you can either accept the fact that I love you or not. That is your choice. But until you tell me that you do not love me, I am going to stay here and prove to you that the words I say are true," she said. Then she reached up and pulled my mask off. I was so surprised I did not even protest. "And you do not need to hide behind this mask. Not from me." She threw the mask on the floor. "When I say I love you, I mean I love you. _All_ of you." She met my gaze, her chin held high. There was an air of confidence about her that I had I had rarely seen in her.

I felt myself fighting a grin at her display. I had known there was a fire in Christine Daae, from the first time I saw her, the first time I heard her sing. It was well hidden, but I had known it was there.

I heard the truth in her words and saw the determination in her beautiful face. This was the radiant, confident side of Christine that I had tried so hard to help her discover. She had been like a flower bud and all I had wanted was for her to bloom.

Now, looking down at Christine, standing before me, facing me and my wrath without an ounce of fear, I knew that I believed her. Christine loved me, totally and completely. It was not my power over her, it was not because I was controlling her.

She loved me.

In that instant I felt the walls that surrounded my cold and lonely heart crumble to the ground.

The silence wore on but Christine just held my gaze levelly, refusing to back down, refusing to look away from me.

"Oh, Christine," I whispered finally. "Christine, Christine. I love you so much, so very much…."

She looked at me with a slight expression of disbelief. Then suddenly her face broke into a grin.

"Oh, Erik!" she cried and threw herself into my arms.

I wrapped my arms around her, loving the feeling of her body next to mine, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. I buried my face into her soft curls and could smell lavender.

"I am so sorry, Erik. I am so sorry I hurt you, I am sorry I left you. I was so weak, so childish!" Christine said, her voice muffled against my chest.

"Oh, Christine, do not apologize," I said softly. "It is all right now, everything is fine…"

Christine pulled back slightly and looked at me, tears coursing down her cheeks. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned towards me and our lips met.

I pulled her close to me as we kissed. I ran my fingers through her hair and she clung to me almost desperately. The kiss was slow and soft and when I pulled away from her my heart was racing. Christine gently stroked my deformed cheek, her emerald eyes full of love and acceptance.

"I love you Erik, I love you so much!" she said softly. "I was so afraid, I was so afraid that you were dead. I have never been so afraid…"

I smiled down at her. "When I woke up and you were not there, I knew it was all a dream and that you really had not come back. I could barely believe my eyes when you walked through the door…" I paused. "I am sorry for how I have treated you, Christine."

Christine grinned. "You were…difficult," she said and I laughed.

"Oh, Christine," I said seriously. "I never dreamed that you could love me. I never dared to dream that you would come to me of your own free will. I am sorry for the things I did, but I only did them because I love you."

"I know, Erik. It is in the past, it does not matter," Christine said, shaking her head slightly. "I love you and you love me. _That_ is all that matters."

I smiled down at her again and leaned down and kissed her again This kiss was desperate, almost frantic as every emotion that had made up our relationship poured into that kiss. I felt as if I would die from the sheer intensity of the kiss, from the feeling of her love that surrounded me, enveloped me. I ran my hands along her back and felt her shiver. My body tingled where she touched me and I felt as if I were standing in a fire. When we pulled away I saw that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed with desire.

Still somewhat dazed I looked down at her, scarcely believing that she was there, in my arms, of her own accord. I could scarcely believe that she loved me, wanted me. I grinned and found myself laughing as I pulled her into my arms and swung her in a circle while she giggled.

"Oh, Erik, I love you," she said when I finally set her down again.

"You cannot imagine how much I enjoy hearing those words," I said huskily and kissed her again.

((This is not the end, still more to come! Big hugs and thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I appreciate your reviews!))


	25. One Love One Lifetime

"_Your love has the power to save me_

_From the darkness that I am…"_

Abruptly Erik stopped singing and stood up. I could see fear in his eyes, fear and another emotion…as much as he tried to fight it, I could see the love in his eyes, well hidden as it was.

"That was beautiful," I said softly, as I noticed that while he had sung I had not felt any of the helplessness that I had felt before when I heard his voice. It was not less beautiful, no less haunting, but I did not feel the way I always had before when he sang. "What is it called?" I asked, trying not to think too much about the reasons why his voice held no power over me anymore.

"It is called _Saviour_," he snapped.

"You wrote it?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Even as he fought it, I could feel his emotions and I knew full well that he had written those words for me.

He glowered at me and began to leave, pushing his way past me.

"Erik!" I said, grabbing his arm to stop him. "Erik, do not leave!" I said as he turned around, glaring at me fiercely.

"What is it Christine?" he snarled.

I cringed at the fury in his voice, but then I gathered my resolve. This would not go on for another day. Regardless of what happened, this would be resolved today. Even if he sent me away. I steeled myself, clenching my fists and calling up my courage. "Erik, do not walk away from me again," I said, inwardly cursing my voice for betraying me by shaking. "Erik," I repeated softly, glancing at the ground as I weighed my options and tried to decide what to say. I looked up and looked him straight in the eye as I took a deep breath.

"Damn it, Erik, I love you!" I blurted out.

His eyes widened at my words, which only served to feed my determination and the words poured out of me, tumbling over one another as I tried to say everything I needed to say before he walked out on me again. I glared at him as he watched me calmly, listening to me rant without saying a word or moving an inch.

"Now," I said as my tirade wound down. "You can either accept the fact that I love you or not. That is your choice. But until you tell me that you do not love me, I am going to stay here and prove to you that the words I say are true." I had a point to make and I was not sure whether I was going about it the right way or not. But I followed my instinct and reached up and pulled off his mask while he stared at me, stupefied. "And you do not need to hide behind this mask. Not from me. When I say I love you, I mean I love you. _All_ of you," I finished, tossing the mask onto the floor while I tried frantically to read the expression in his icy blue eyes. I felt the most wonderful feeling of freedom and confidence as I faced him, unflinchingly meeting his eyes, praying with everything I had that he would trust me and believe me.

The silence grew thick with tension as we faced each other determinedly. It seemed as if we were engaged in a battle of wills and I refused to back down, despite the unreadable look in his eyes, despite the aura of danger that surrounded him. I was provoking him and I knew it, but I felt that it was the only way to resolve anything.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered at last. "Christine, Christine. I love you so much, so very much…"

It took several seconds for the words to sink in. When they did and when I saw the shattered, almost lost, look on his face I grinned broadly. "Oh, Erik!" I cried and I flung myself at him.

He wrapped me in his arms, holding me close as he buried his face into my hair and I leaned against his broad chest. "I am so sorry, Erik, I am so sorry I hurt you, I am sorry I left you. I was so weak, so childish," I said, sobbing with relief that he loved me, that he believed me.

"Oh, Christine, do not apologize. It is all right now, everything is fine…" he whispered, stroking my hair gently, soothingly.

I pulled back and looked up at him, feeling a sort of pain in my chest at the love that I could see openly in his eyes. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned towards him and our lips met in a soft, slow kiss that left me trembling as I clung to him.

When we parted I gently ran my fingers across his deformed cheek, willing him to accept my love and to know that I loved him completely. "I love you Erik, I love you so much! I was so afraid, I was so afraid that you were dead. I have never been so afraid…"

He smiled slightly. "When I woke up and you were not there, I knew it was all dream and that you really had not come back. I could barely believe my eyes when you walked through the door." He paused and then looked at me apologetically. "I am sorry for how I have treated you, Christine."

I grinned wickedly, loving the newfound sense of freedom that came with Erik's love. "You were…difficult," I said and Erik laughed. It was not his normal mocking laugh, nor was it a bitter, cold laugh. It was the first time I had heard him truly laugh and it made me laugh, too.

"I never dreamed that you could love me," he said, suddenly serious once more. "I never dared to dream that you would come to me of your own free will. I am sorry for the things I did, but I only did them because I love you."

"I know, Erik. It is in the past, it does not matter. I love you and you love me, that is all that matters," I said firmly.

He smiled again and leaned down to kiss me once more. Unlike the last kiss, which was slow and infinitely sweet, this kiss was frantic, filled with the passion and electricity that had composed our relationship. His love poured over me, into me, and I shivered from the power of it. I could sense his desire and I felt my cheeks flush as my heart raced wildly.

When we parted he looked down at me, his expression slightly dazed yet happier than I had ever seen him before. He scooped me into his arms and swung me around in a circle while we both laughed.

"Oh, Erik, I love you!" I said breathlessly.

"You cannot imagine how much I enjoy hearing those words," he said huskily as he kissed me over and over again.

When we parted again I was breathless and smiling and happier than I had been for longer than I could even remember.

We spent the next days just basking in our love.

Everything shifted between us after that morning. The uncertainty fell away and left in its wake a pure and complete contentment. For the fist time, Erik talked openly about his past. Though I knew it pained him to talk of the unpleasant memories, I knew that he found comfort in talking to me.

My heart ached for him as he told me of the life he had lived. The abuse, the loneliness, the endless longing for what he never thought he could have. Through it all I just held his hand and listened, showing him nothing but love and acceptance. I held him in my arms as he cried.

We spent much time engrossed in music. Erik played the organ and we sang together. Our voices seemed to be made for each other. The way they sounded together, the way they combined, brought tears to my eyes

After a few days Erik ventured aboveground to check on the managers and the state of the Opera House. When he returned he was clearly worried.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"The Opera House is closed," he said. "Temporarily, of course. They are without a lead soprano as Carlotta refuses to come back after what happened to Signor Piangi."

Piangi's name sent a chill through me. I looked at Erik. "Why did you kill him, Erik?" I asked quietly.

Erik sighed and turned away from me. He removed his cloak and gloves and hung them on a coat rack. With his back to me he said, "I did not kill him, not directly."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

He turned and his eyes were burning. "I only meant to tie him up, get him out of the way. I am not certain what happened, but I believe it must have been his heart," he said. "He died, but I did not murder him, though I was the cause of his death."

Relief flooded through me. "Oh, Erik….all this time I thought you had just killed him in cold blood!"

Erik gave a disdainful sniff. "You thought me to be that much of a monster?"

"Why would I think otherwise?" I asked calmly. "You murdered Josef Buquet."

Erik gave a humourless laugh. "Again, I was the cause of his death, but I did not murder him."

"He was hung," I stated.

"Yes, I know. He tried to find my chambers and he ran across one of my traps. I found him the next day."

I stared at Erik. "All of this time….and you really are not a murderer," I said softly.

"Do not misunderstand me, Christine. I have murdered before, on many occasions. But I have not killed merely to kill for quite some time," he said, his voice growing sharp as he became more agitated. "That is the truth of who I am Christine. I do not make excuses for what I have done."

I crossed the room and faced Erik boldly. "That is in the past, Erik. Leave it there."

"And you love me, despite my past…" Erik said, his eyes troubled.

"Of course I do," I said firmly and put my arms around him.

Erik stood stiffly for several seconds before he sighed again and wrapped his arms around me, melting into my embrace.

"Now, what else did you find out aboveground?" I asked.

Erik ran his fingers lightly through my hair. "They are holding auditions and plan to reopen in a few months," he said somewhat evasively.

I wondered briefly what the managers had heard about me, what they thought. I wanted to ask Erik but I feared bringing it up, so I said nothing.

X

A few days later Erik surprised me by asking me to go to the park with him.

"The park? Truly?" I asked delightedly.

Erik smiled and donned his cape, fedora and the mask. We had reached a compromise with the mask. He did not wear it when we were together and I did not protest to his wearing it outside of his chambers. It is what made him comfortable.

It was quite late when we made our way across the lake. I smiled a little, thinking of the many times I had crossed the lake and how vastly different things were this time.

We exited the Opera House on the Rue Scribe. Erik hailed a coach and held out a gloved hand to help me step inside. It was the first time I had been aboveground since I had returned. There was snow on the ground and the sky was cloudy with the promise of more snow.

Though the driver probably thought us mad, he dropped us off outside of the park and Erik paid him well to stay there and wait for us.

We walked arm in arm through the dark and empty park. The trees were heavy with snow and the grass was covered with a blanket of white. When we arrived at the small bridge that led across the creek I could see that the pond was mostly frozen over.

We stopped on the bridge. I shivered slightly in the cold and Erik removed his cloak and draped it over my shoulders despite my protests.

"I am not cold," he said lightly. "But I cannot let you risk catching a cold."

I smiled at him and pulled the cloak tighter around me.

There was a long silence in which we both stared down at the frozen lake, each lost in our own thoughts. After several minutes Erik cleared his throat and I looked over.

He looked decidedly nervous but he turned away as soon as I glanced over.

My brow furrowed as I wondered what was wrong. Erik continued to stare across the lake, his eyes flashing with an emotion I could not read.

"What is it, Erik? Is something wrong?" I asked worriedly.

"No, no. Nothing is wrong," Erik replied.

The silence wore on for another minute when Erik took a deep breath. I looked over again. "Yes?" I asked when I saw him watching me.

"Christine…" he said.

"Yes?" I replied, confused. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong Christine….I…"

I raised my eyebrows, wondering what on earth could cause the calm and collected Erik to act this way. I could not begin to imagine.

Erik took another deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he took my hands and gently turned me so I was facing him. I gave a little laugh. "What is it, Erik?"

"Christine..." he began. "Christine….I love you."

"I love you, too Erik," I replied, mystified.

"I-I have something to ask you…" he swallowed and looked at the ground before looking back at me again.

"Yes?"

"Christine…" he said, and I could feel his hands shaking.

My heart began pounding, wondering if something was indeed truly wrong.

"Christine, I love you. I love you with all of my heart and soul. You are my saviour, you are the only thing that makes life worth living. I love you so much and I want to spend each day with you, each night, by your side."

My heart stopped as his words began to register.

"I do not have much to offer you, but I would gladly give you everything I have. I would do anything and everything in my power to make you happy," he paused then and the look in his eyes became clear. His eyes were vulnerable and filled with love. And he was also clearly terrified.

"Christine, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?" he asked and sank down onto one knee in the snow, still holding my hands. "Will you do me this honour?" he said softly.

I gasped. "Oh, Erik!" I whispered. "Oh, my God!" My mind was racing and my heart was thumping loudly in my chest as I looked down at him, at the love and adoration that was shining in his eyes.

"Oh, Erik, yes! Yes! Of course I will marry you!" I said, smiling. "Oh, I love you so much!"

Erik let out his breath and laughed loudly as tugged at him and he stood up. I threw my arms around his neck, laughing and crying at the same time. Erik held me close to him and I felt safe and comfortable in his arms.

When we parted I saw that he had been crying, the glimmering track of tears shone on his mask and his cheek. He pulled a small black velvet box out of his pocket and opened it up.

Nestled in the black velvet was the most exquisite ring I had ever seen. It was white gold, with intricate filigree. There was a large round diamond set in the centre of the ring, and the filigree was laid with tiny pave set diamonds that glittered throughout the band. "It is beautiful," I whispered, wiping tears from my cheeks.

"It does not do justice to your beauty," Erik said as he removed the ring from the box and slid it onto the ring finger of my left hand, where he had once placed his black onyx ring the night of _Don Juan_. When I had returned I had placed it back on his finger and nothing had ever been said of it.

I held my hand up in the dim light of the gaslamp at the end of the bridge and looked at the ring, the simple gold band and fiery diamond that signified our love and our union.

Erik was looking at me again, his expression slightly disbelieving yet deliriously happy. "It is quite late and getting colder," he said softly, brushing a hand lightly across my cheek. "We have much to talk about, my love," he said. "Shall we go back?"

I nodded and he took my arm and we walked slowly back to the waiting carriage which took us back to the Paris Opera House.

I looked fondly up at the building as the carriage drove off. It had all started here, and I would never have met Erik had I not decided to audition for the chorus all those months ago.

Once we were back below ground and across the lake we sat on a couch that sat in the corner of the main chamber.

"We cannot stay here," Erik said once we were settled.

"We cannot?" I repeated.

"No. The managers and the police are planning to raid these rooms once more. They are going to empty them out, seal up the entrances."

Tears filled my eyes as I thought of Erik's belongings, mostly destroyed already, being thrown away. I looked around the room with its candelabras, the gold piped organ. I thought of the lake and the boat and everything that had happened since the Angel of Music had first visited me in my dressing room and I felt an overwhelming sadness.

"How much time do we have?" I asked.

Erik gave an elegant shrug. "A week, perhaps more, but not much."

I nodded resolutely. "What shall we do?"

Erik took my hands and looked deep into my eyes. He had removed the mask and I was struck again by his deformity. It did not bother me, indeed I rarely gave it a thought. But I remembered the stories, the shrieks of the audience at Don Juan when they had seen his face. I thought, with shame, of my own reaction.

"I have money," he said simply. "Quite a bit, too. We will never want for money, I assure you, but…"

"But?"

"My face, Christine. We will never be free of my face."

"Oh, Erik, please…" I began.

"No, Christine. You have not lived with it as I have. We will never find peace. People will always talk, always stare, always hate. There is no escaping it."

"We will manage," I said firmly.

"I have an idea, but it will mean…"

"It will mean what?" I asked when he did not continue.

"It would mean giving up your career, your fame," he said finally.

"What is your idea?"

"We could move to the country. We could find a big house with no neighbours and we could live there. We could go wherever you wish."

"That sounds wonderful. I have had my time in the spotlight, Erik. My life with you is what is important. And besides, I had always known I would quit the stage eventually, when I had my first child," I said before I had thought about what I was saying.

Erik looked astounded and I laughed at my boldness. "Surely you want children?" I asked lightly, laughing.

"I had never given it much thought, actually," he replied. "But I think I would like that, very much," he said with a smile.

"If you agree, we can marry quickly and leave here. We can stay in a hotel if we need while we try to find a house," Erik said cautiously.

"I would like that," I said softly.

"Christine…this will not be easy for me," he said, looking down at our entwined fingers. "I have lived for decades in the darkness down here."

"I will be here for you, Erik. I will support you and help you through this. You will be fine," I said gently.

Erik smiled at me. "I would like to leave in the next few days," he said. "I will send word to my contact, Charles, to get a wedding dress," he said. "And I will also ask him to arrange the ceremony. It will not be much…"

"Erik, it will be wonderful. It is not the pomp and ceremony that is important. It is what the ceremony means that is important."

"You are amazing, Christine Daae," he said softly, leaning over. Our lips met and I melted into his embrace, excitement coursing through me. I was to be Erik's wife.

I had never been happier.


	26. I Will Follow You

Hi all! I somehow forgot that I hadn't finished re-posting the last chapters after I revised them. So anyway, here is the next chapter, with more to come!

Thanks for reading and please review!

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I knew the day I went aboveground to the manager's office that we would have to leave the Opera House.

I listened to their plan to bring the police and many other men to empty out my chambers and seal up the doors that they could find.

Had it been just me, I knew I could have hidden from them. There were more secret passages and doors than they could ever find. I had no doubt that I could have remained hidden and stayed there, below the Paris Opera House.

But I would not do that to Christine.

She deserved more than to spend the rest of her live trapped in the bowels of the Opera House. I knew without a doubt that I wanted to marry her, and I was certain that she wanted it too. That would mean building our lives together, away from the Opera House.

The thought was at once terrifying and exhilarating. The thought of a normal life-how could I not desire that which I had spent my entire life wanting? And yet, I had lived so long in the darkness and the shadows that I wondered if I was capable of living a normal life.

There was also the question of my face. Always it was my face which denied me happiness. Even if we moved away from Paris, there was still the issue of my face and the way people felt about me.

But I knew that for Christine I would do anything. I would try anything to give her the life I knew she deserved.

And so I made my plans. I contacted Charles and had him get me an engagement ring. He was puzzled, of course, as he had already bought a wedding dress and wedding band. But that was all part of the old scheme, the Phantom's plan. This was just me and Christine and I wanted it to be perfect. Charles did not ask any questions, he was a good fellow in that respect. He just did what I asked and purchased a diamond solitaire, which he returned to me only a few days after Christine's declaration of love.

I thought of Christine's love and acceptance when we talked of my past. It was not easy for me, but I knew that before I could ask her to marry me I had to know that she knew everything about me, all about my past, the many mistakes I had made. I smiled briefly as I thought of her relief in finding out that I had not killed Signor Piangi and Josef Buquet in cold blood. Whether or not I would have did not seem to matter to her, and it no longer mattered to me. I was who I was and I had been who I had been and there was no way to change any of it. She knew the truth about me and she still loved me, a fact which never ceased to amaze me.

And then there was the matter of my voice. It seemed I no longer had any control over her with my voice. In part I thought it was because I no longer wanted to control her, but I also thought that it was in part due to a change in her as well. She had grown, matured. She was no longer the naïve little girl she had been and more and more I saw the flashes of fire in her that I had always known existed.

With care and guidance she opened up and blossomed, becoming bold and confident. She was the Christine Daae that I had always known was hidden beneath that shy, quiet exterior.

When the day finally came that I would ask her to marry me I dressed carefully. I wore my best tuxedo I was nervous as a school boy as I carefully placed the ring box in my pocket and went into the main chamber where Christine was tinkering on the organ. She looked up and smiled as I entered the room.

"Christine," I said hestitantly. I almost lost my nerve but I steeled myself. "Christine, would you like to take a drive to the park?"

It was quite late, but I knew she would understand my need to ease slowly into the world above the Opera House.

"The park?" she repeated, grinning. "Truly?"

"Yes," I said and she clapped her hands together. She rushed off to her room to get her cloak and gloves. I donned my finest satin cloak, my fedora and the mask. I knew she preferred me not to wear it (God only knew why!) but I felt more comfortable with it on.

She joined me a moment later looking stunning in a blue velvet gown trimmed with satin. She wore a heavy cloak and gloves and was smiling happily.

I took her arm and we walked to the lake. I rowed us across in silence, contemplating what I was about to do. Had anyone thought that I would be proposing marriage to the lovely Christine Daae I would have thought them completely mad! As it was I half wondered if this was not all just a dream, a fantasy brought on by her leaving me.

But as I looked down at her, gazing wistfully into the waters of the lake, I knew it was no dream. She was here with me, she loved me.

I grew progressively more nervous as we crossed the lake and walked up the five levels to the Rue Scribe entrance. We walked out and were greeted by a dusting of snow and icy cold air. Christine shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her.

I hailed a coach and we drove to the park in silence. Christine was quiet, looking out the window of the coach with a little smile on her face.

We reached the park and I paid the driver extra to wait for us. It was quite cold and I did not think we would be too long.

I held my arm out and Christine slipped her arm through mine. We walked through the park, empty save for the two of us. The sky was grey and promised more snow to come. But it was holding off for now and we walked in companionable silence while I contemplated what I was about to do.

We reached a small bridge that led across the creek and the trail led down to a small pond, frozen almost completely over. We stopped at the top of the bridge. Christine stood close to me and I could feel her shiver as a cold breeze whispered past us.

I slipped out of my cloak and draped it across her shoulders.

"Erik, I am fine, do not give me your cloak or you will be cold!" Christine protested.

"I am not cold. But I cannot let you risk catching a cold," I told her sternly. She just smiled and pulled the cloak tighter around her.

All was silent for a long moment. Christine looked out over the frozen pond. I watched her, gathering my courage.

Finally I cleared my throat.

Christine looked at me curiously and I looked away, nervous. I stared out at the pond, my emotions in a whirl.

"What is it, Erik? Is something wrong?" Christine asked.

"No, no. Nothing is wrong," I said quickly. Christine looked puzzled and then turned to look out at the park.

After another few minutes of silence I took a deep breath and looked at Christine, noticing, not for the first time, her lovely profile.

"Yes?" she said, turning back to me.

"Christine…" I said, and my throat closed up.

"Yes?" she repeated looking puzzled again. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Christine…I…" my heart thumped loudly and I swallowed.

Christine raised her eyebrows and looked at me quizzically. I took her hands and turned her so we were face to face. She gave a little laugh. "What is it, Erik?"

"Christine…." I said. "Christine…I love you."

"I love you, too Erik," she replied, beginning to look somewhat concerned.

"I-I have something to ask you…" I said. I swallowed again and briefly looked at the ground. When I looked back Christine was watching me, her eyes wide.

"Yes?"

"Christine," I said, my hands shaking. "Christine, I love you. I love you with all of my heart and soul. You are my saviour, you are the only thing that makes my life worth living. I love you so much and I want to spend each day with you, each night, by your side."

I paused and gathered my courage. Impossibly, Christine's wide eyes grew even wider. "I do not have much to offer you, but I would gladly give you everything I have. I would do anything and everything in my power to make you happy," I paused once more, overwhelmed by fear, fear of what she would say.

"Christine, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?" I sank down onto one knee in the snow, ignoring the cold as I held her hands. She looked down at me, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "Will you do me this honour?" I asked softly.

"Oh, Erik!" she gasped. "Oh, my God!" She grinned. "Oh, Erik, yes! Yes! Of course I will marry you! I love you so much!"

I let out the breath I had been holding and laughed. Christine tugged at me until I stood up. She threw her arms around my neck, laughing and crying all at once. I relished the feel of her in my arms as I cried silently, so grateful that she had returned to me.

When she finally pulled away from me I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. I opened it. The ring was white gold. It had a filigree pattern, with a large, perfect round diamond in the centre. Tiny diamonds were mounted throughout the band, so that the ring glittered and sparkled in the light from the gas lamp.

Christine gasped and wiped tears from her cheeks. "It is beautiful," she said softly.

"It does not do justice to your beauty," I said as I took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. I thought briefly of the time I had put my onyx ring on her finger. It seemed a lifetime ago. Things had changed so much. _I_ had changed so much.

Christine held her hand up and looked at the ring by the light of a gas lamp. She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling.

I looked at her, still in awe that she had said yes. "It is quite late and getting colder," I said reluctantly, wishing to stay there, surrounded by the magic of the night and the park. I brushed my fingers across her cheek. I had to talk to her. I wished I did not, but inevitably I had to face reality. "We have much to talk about, my love. Shall we go back?" I asked.

Christine nodded and I took her arm again and we walked slowly back to the carriage. The drive back to the Opera House was as silent as the ride to the park had been. It seemed only a moment and then we were back in my chambers across the underground lake. I removed my cloak and the mask and hurried to fix a pot of tea and then we sat on the couch that sat in the corner of the main chamber, near the fireplace where a fire still crackled.

"We cannot stay here," I said after I took a sip of tea.

'We cannot?" Christine asked, puzzled.

"No. The managers and the police are planning to raid these rooms once more. They are going to empty them out, seal up the entrances."

Christine shook her head slightly, her emerald eyes filling with tears as she glanced around the chambers, at my belongings that had already been mostly destroyed once before. She gazed at the organ and bit down on her lip. "How much time do we have?" she asked, her voice trembling.

I shrugged my shoulders. "A week, perhaps more, but not much."

"What shall we do?" Christine asked, sitting up straight and looking determined.

I took her hands in mine and looked at her seriously. She looked back with no trace of fear or disgust, though I was not wearing the mask. The love in her eyes did not falter, even as she looked at my deformed face. "I have money. Quite a bit, too. We will never want for money, I assure you. But…" I paused, trying to decide what to say.

"My face, Christine. We will never be free of my face," I said finally, looking deep in her eyes.

"Oh, Erik, please," she pleaded, her eyes glimmering with tears.

"No, Christine. You have not lived with it as I have. We will never find peace. People will always talk, always stare, always hate. There is no escaping it," I said, my voice harsh, not with anger, but with regret and sorrow.

"We will manage," Christine said stubbornly.

"I have an idea, but it will mean…."

"It will mean what?"

I sighed. "It would mean giving up your career, your fame."

"What is your idea?" she asked curiously.

"We could move to the country. We could find a big house with no neighbours and we could live there. We could go wherever you wish," I said quickly, hopefully.

There was a pause while Christine stared into space. Then she turned to me with a smile. "That sounds wonderful. I have had my time in the spotlight, Erik. My life with you is what is important. And besides, I had always known I would quit the stage eventually, when I had my first child." She stopped suddenly, a blush stealing across her cheeks.

I looked at her, dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open. She laughed. "Surely you want children?" she asked with a little laugh.

I had honestly never even considered having a child of my own. I had never thought it would be possible, but as I looked at Christine I thought it sounded perfect. "I had never given it much thought, actually," I admitted with a rueful grin. "But I think I would like that, very much." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "If you agree, we can marry quickly and leave here. We can stay in a hotel if we need while we try to find a house."

"I would like that," Christine whispered.

"Christine….this will not be easy for me," I said, squeezing her hands. "I have lived for decades in the darkness down here."

"I will be here for you, Erik," Christine said softly, her eyes compassionate. "I will support you and help you through this. You will be fine."

"I would like to leave in the next few days. I will send word to my contact, Charles, to get a wedding dress. I will also ask him to arrange the ceremony. It will not be much…" I said.

"Erik, it will be wonderful. It is not the pomp and ceremony that is important. It is what the ceremony means that is important."

"You are amazing, Christine Daae," I said and leaned towards her. She melted into my embrace as our lips met in a slow, gentle kiss. I felt like I was in a dream, indeed I did not think it could possibly be real.

If it was a dream, I wished to never wake up.

Xxx Please review! Thanks! xxX


	27. Let Your Spirit Start to Soar

I rose early the next morning. I knew that until we left the Opera House it was dangerous for us to be aboveground but I also knew it would take Charles some time to get everything arranged, including a hotel for us to stay in until the wedding.

I left while Christine still slept and silently made my up the five levels. I stopped by the manager's office and found it empty. Satisfied that I was safe I made my way to the Rue Scribe entrance.

It was still dark outside as I emerged from the darkness of the Opera House. The streets were quiet and I quickly found a carriage and directed it to Charles' home. I paid the driver to wait and walked hesitantly to the front door. How many years had it been since I had arrived at someone's home, as if I were just like everyone else? I smiled somewhat cynically when I realised that the answer to that was never. My business dealings the past years had taken place in the darkness of the streets outside the Opera House. And I had never been one that was prone to dropping in on anyone for a visit.

I knocked on the heavy wood door, hoping that Charles himself would open the door. I tilted my hat down so the brim shadowed my face, and looked down.

The door swung open a moment later. It was Charles. I looked up.

"Monsieur Erik!" he gasped looking terrified. "What are you doing here?"

"Good day Monsieur," I said calmly. "I am sorry to bother you at home, but I have a rather urgent request and I was hoping you could help me."

Charles still looked aghast. "Of course, Monsieur. Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all, Charles," I said.

"W-would you like to come in?" he asked hesitantly.

The man was clearly terrified of me and I shook my head in regret. I had many things to make up for in my life.

I knew Charles had a wife and several children and did not want to impose on him. "No, but thank you. I will be quick," I said. "I must return quickly." I pulled a piece of paper from my jacket pocket and handed it to him. "I need you to purchase these items."

Charles glanced over the list and gave me a questioning look. "Pardon me, Monsieur, but I thought I had already purchased these things. Were they not acceptable?"

"No, no Charles. They were perfect. But some of the things accidentally got damaged."

Charles nodded. "I understand. I will get these things purchased."

"I also need you to set up the ceremony. Something small and as quickly as possible. Then I need for you to help me purchase a house. We would like something in the country. Money is no object. I want something nice and roomy. I trust your judgment."

Looking slightly overwhelmed Charles tucked the piece of paper into his pocket. "I am not certain how long this will take me," he said hesitantly.

"I understand. I have only a week before I need to move. I will need you to secure a hotel in the meantime."

"Certainly, Monsieur. It will be done."

"Thank you Charles. I will make certain you are reimbursed for your time," I said. "I will contact you in a week's time."

"Than you, Monsieur. And congratulations again," he said, still looking bewildered.

"Thank you, Charles," I said with a slight smile. Then I turned and walked back to the carriage and told the driver to return to the Opera House. Dawn was just breaking as he left me on the Rue Scribe.

Once back in the Opera House, as I made my way through the labyrinth I thought of the many things there were to do in the next week. The thought of what I was going to do, marrying Christine, moving away from the Opera House, was overwhelming. I had thought I would live out my life in the catacombs beneath the Opera House. Of course, the reality, being with Christine, seemed like a miracle.

When I walked through the archway into my chambers Christine was just emerging from her room. She smiled when she saw me. "Good morning, my love. Did you see Charles?"

I removed my gloves and cloak and hung them up. Then I walked to where she stood and kissed her softly on her forehead. "Good morning, Christine," I said. "Yes, I did speak to Charles. He will have a place for us to stay by next week."

"And the wedding?" Christine asked eagerly.

I smiled. "Hopefully he will have everything arranged by next week."

"Good," Christine said firmly, and then blushed slightly.

The week seemed to fly by in a flurry of activity. We packed what we could into trunks. After the devastation caused by the mob there was not much left to take, but we took what we could. The organ, sadly, would remain, being too large to move, besides which it was most likely too large to fit in a house. I would buy a piano, I decided. A large piano.

There were, it seemed, a million details to attend to. Christine's belongings were still in her flat. Though we had discussed staying there Christine had deemed it too dangerous. So we would move her belongings out when we moved to our house.

We made lists, made plans, and relished our time together. For the first time in my life I felt almost….normal.

When the week was up I sent word to Charles to meet us at midnight on the Rue Scribe. Once the Opera House was empty Christine and I began taking our things upstairs. By the time Charles arrived in a wagon as I had requested, we had everything from below.

I introduced Christine to Charles, who looked startled when he saw her. Whether it was because he had questioned her existence or whether he was simply surprised at her youth and beauty I do not know, and I did not care.

While Charles loaded our things into the wagon Christine and I went below one last time. We stood together in my chambers, which were mostly empty now. I had dismantled the organ and carefully placed the pieces in a vault hidden in one of the walls, along with other odds and ends that we had decided to leave, things that I could not bear the thought of the men destroying.

We looked around one last time. A thousand memories assaulted me. Memories of Christine. Memories of the Angel of Music, and the Phantom of the Opera. The Angel and the Phantom. They had been part of me for so long, but they existed no longer. Now I was Erik, just Erik. I felt I existed now only for Christine. She was my other half, the one that made me whole. She was light to my darkness.

Christine placed her hand lightly on mine and looked at me with troubled eyes.

"Is every thing all right?" she asked softly.

I smiled down at her. "Of course, my dear," I replied. "I was just lost in memories."

She smiled at me as I walked slowly from my chambers, from the only home that I had known for so many years. I felt a wave of sadness as I looked one last time at the high ceiling, at the archways, at the silver candelabra's and the mirrors.

Suddenly Christine stopped. "Erik, you forgot your music box," she said, motioning towards the Persian monkey.

I looked at it and thought of all it represented. My past, who I used to be.

"I do not want to take it," I said.

"Why not?" Christine asked.

"It belongs in the past, along with the Phantom and the Angel," I said, knowing she would understand what I meant.

She nodded and smiled at me. "Shall we go?"

"Of course, my love," I said and I took her arm as we walked away from my home beneath the Opera House. I poled the boat silently across the mirror black surface of the underground lake. I breathed deeply the scent of must and stone. When we reached the other side I sank the boat, completing the end of my old life. Christine watched with tears in her eyes but said nothing as we walked the five levels to the Opera House. Like silent shadows we skulked through the Opera one last time, saying good-bye to the past, welcoming the future. Christine cried quietly as we stood in the centre of her dressing room. She ran her hands lightly over the frame of the mirror, the mirror in which she had seen me for the first time. She smiled through her tears and took my hand as I led her to the Rue Scribe entrance.

Charles had loaded our few belongings into the wagon and had summoned a carriage. "I have found a house for you," he said as we emerged from the Opera House. He went on to describe it. A small chateau in the hills, surrounded by nature with no close neighbours. It had a large amount of land and yet was quite close to a small village, within a days travel.

"I only returned from there last night, Monsieur," Charles said. "I believe that it is perfect, just what you want. It has been on the market for some time, and the price is far beneath what it is worth. You could move in immediately."

I glanced down at Christine, who was smiling.

"What about the wedding plans?" I asked, my thoughts whirling.

"The dress will be ready in two days time," Charles replied. "I have spoken to the priest, he is available on Saturday."

Saturday, I thought. That was only three days.

"That is perfect," Christine spoke up when I remained silent. Her eyes were shining with amusement. No doubt I had a most befuddled look on my face.

"Yes, yes, that is fine, Charles," I said.

Charles gave us the details and told us when to meet him at the chapel. He then told us which hotel we were to stay at and gave us a key. "I am sorry Monsieur, I could not manage to get two rooms. But I spoke with my wife, Muriel, and she offered for Miss Daae to stay with us."

I looked down at Christine, who looked suddenly quite worried.

I understood, as I was feeling quite worried myself. My first instinct was to protest, for us to stay together. But I knew that I could not do that, not without ruining her reputation if anyone was ever to find out. She had been staying alone with me all of this time, true, but no one knew that, not for certain. But if we went together to the hotel Charles would know, and I could not do that to my dear Christine.

"Thank you, Charles. That will be perfect," I said, giving Christine an encouraging smile. "We will meet on Saturday, then, at the chapel. My dear," I said to Christine, "What do you say, after we are married we will go to the country, see the house and then we can make a decision."

Christine looked up at me, her eyes betraying carefully concealed panic. "Yes, Erik, that is fine. Can we speak alone?" she asked of Charles.

He bowed his head slightly. "Of course, Mademoiselle," he said and walked away.

"Erik! You are going to leave me?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"It is only for three days, my love," I replied, brushing a hand across her cheek. "Charles and his wife will treat you well. Then we will be married and we will find a home for us."

Christine looked unconvinced.

"I do not want to do anything to harm your reputation, my dear," I said.

Understanding dawned in her eyes and she sighed. "I will go with him, then," she said finally.

"It is only a few days, then we will be together."

"Forever," she said, with a little smile. "I will miss you."

"And I will miss you, Christine," I said, smiling down at her. I brushed a quick kiss across her cheek and then led her to Charles, who waited at the carriage.

"Thank you for everything, Charles," I said. I took his hand and shook it firmly. "I appreciate all you have done for me."

"You are welcome, Monsieur," he replied, and for the first time, smiled at me, as if we were equals, as if we were friends.

I climbed into the carriage, feeling an almost physical ache as Charles helped Christine onto the seat of the wagon. I did not want to leave her. It was only three days, I told myself firmly. Then we would be married.

The thought was enough to calm me. The carriage pulled away from the Paris Opera House and I watched it grow smaller as we drove further away from it. A rush of emotions overtook me and I cried silent tears as I watched the past disappear into the foggy Paris night.


	28. The Last Days of Loneliness

The air was cold and crisp as Erik and I walked one last time through Erik's home underneath the Paris Opera house. I was assaulted by a million memories, a million emotions. It was hard for me to imagine how our life would be, away from the Opera House. It had been all that there was for so long. And Erik had lived here for so long before we had even met. How must he be feeling, leaving his life behind this way?

I had cried the day he had taken the organ apart and stored the pieces in his hidden vault. But although I was sad, I was happy, also, when I thought of our life together.

As we walked away from his underground home I noticed the Persian monkey music box, sitting abandoned on the ground.

"Erik! You forgot your music box," I said.

Erik turned and looked at it. I watched as a myriad of emotions crossed his face. He looked pensive, then somewhat sad and wistful. Then he looked at me and smiled. "I do not want to take it," he said after a moment.

"Why not?" I asked curiously.

Erik gave a little sigh as he looked around the room. Then he turned to face me. "It belongs in the past, along with the Phantom and the Angel," he said with a little ghost of a smile.

His words immediately reminded me of the night at the graveyard. 'Angel or father, friend or phantom. Who is it there?' I had asked, referring to the many sides of the complex Erik. It seemed that he was leaving more than just his home behind. He was leaving behind the Phantom and the Angel of Music and becoming just Erik. I realised I had never heard his surname, but thought that it was not the proper time to ask. Knowing what I knew of his family, I thought perhaps it was better to let him tell me.

"Shall we go?"

"Of course, my love," he said and took my arm as we walked together from his chambers to the lake.

The ride across the lake was silent as I thought of the many times I had been across the lake and realised with a pang that this would be the last time. I fought tears as we reached the opposite bank and Erik helped me from the boat. I saw the glisten of tears in his eyes behind the mask as he sank the boat. I gave him a shaky smile and we walked up and made our way silently through the Opera House. When we reached my old dressing room I cried as I ran my fingers along the frame of the mirror that served as the passageway to Erik's underground world. I thought of the first time I had seen him, a hazy figure in the mirror. He had been my mentor, my angel, for so long.

I smiled though my tears as we walked away from the dressing room and made our way to the Rue Scribe.

By the time we arrived, Charles had loaded our belongings into the wagon. When he saw me he gave me the same curious, almost startled look that he had given me when Erik had first introduced me to him. A carriage waited in front of the wagon.

"I have found a house for you," he said as we met. A chateau in the hills, surrounded by trees with no close neighbours. It was on a large piece of land, with in a days travel of the nearby village. He told us that he thought it was perfect, and that because it had been on the market for some time, the price was far below what it was worth. We could move in immediately if we decided to buy it.

Erik glanced down at me and I smiled up at him. "What about the wedding plans?" he asked, looking nervous.

"The dress will be ready in two days time. I have spoken to the priest, he is available on Saturday," Charles replied.

Three days, I thought. Just three more days and I would become Erik's wife. Erik said nothing; he looked too stunned to speak.

"That is perfect," I said amusedly.

"Yes, yes, that is fine, Charles," Erik said quickly.

"I have arranged for one o'clock on Saturday. You did not mention witness'….if you would like, my wife and I would be glad to do it."

"Wonderful, Charles, thank you," Erik said quietly.

He held out a key to Erik. "For the hotel," he said. "I am sorry, Monsieur, I could not manage to get two rooms. But I spoke with my wife, Muriel, and she offered for Miss Daae to stay with us."

With a little gasp I looked up at Erik, worried. I did not want us to be separated, not now, this soon after leaving the Opera House. Erik had lived in the darkness for so long, I worried to think how he would react to the world above ground.

After a slight pause Erik said, "Thank you, Charles, that will be perfect. We will meet on Saturday, then, at the chapel. My dear, what do you say, after we are married we will go to the country, see the house and then we can make a decision."

"Yes, Erik that is fine," I said, trying not to show my panic. "Can we speak alone?" I asked Charles.

"Of course, Mademoiselle," he said with a slight bow as he walked away.

"Erik! You are going to leave me?" I asked desperately.

"It is only for three days, my love," he said, brushing a hand across my cheek. "Charles and his wife will treat you well. Then we will be married and we will find a home for us."

I looked up at him, blinking back tears.

"I do not want anything to harm your reputation, my dear," he said softly.

I nodded slightly in understanding, then sighed resignedly. "I will go with him, then," I said.

"It is only for a few days, then we will be together."

"Forever," I said with a shaky smile. "I will miss you."

"And I will miss you, Christine," he said. Then he kissed my cheek and led me to Charles, who was waiting by the carriage.

"Thank you for everything, Charles," Erik said as he took the other man's hand and shook it firmly. "I appreciate all you have done for me."

"You are welcome, Monsieur," Charles replied with a smile. Then he held out a hand and helped me onto the seat of the wagon while Erik climbed into the carriage.

I watched as the carriage drove out of sight. Then Charles drove us in the opposite direction. I craned my neck to watch as the grey stone of the Paris Opera House blended into the grey fog, hiding the building from view.

I shivered as I turned and faced forward, ready to face the days ahead, until Erik and I would be married. The thought warmed me and I smiled thinking of Erik's and my future together.

X

Charles and Muriel Emond lived in a small house tucked into a side street on the outskirts of Paris. It was a small house, but it was quite cosy, I noticed as I stepped through the door. Although it was late, the middle of the night, really, Madame Emond was awake and standing inside the door to greet us.

"Muriel, this is Mademoiselle Daae, Mademoiselle Daae, this is my wife, Muriel."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame," I said. "Thank you for inviting me to stay in your home."

"It is our pleasure, Mademoiselle," Madame Emond said, her voice somewhat flat. She was a plain woman with long ash blonde hair and grey eyes. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," I replied. Charles helped me out of my cloak and we walked into a cosy little library where Madame Emond poured tea and passed around a plate of cookies.

We talked for some time, discussing the wedding arrangements and such. Apparently Muriel had never met Erik but had heard of him from Charles. She was polite and gracious, but I could see something in her eyes that betrayed her feelings about Erik. A slight disgust when we spoke of him.

Before long Charles excused himself and left his wife to show me to my room. She was quiet as she led me upstairs to a small bedroom. She pointed out another bedroom where she said her two sons, aged six and four, were sleeping.

I set my small handbag down on the bed and turned to Muriel. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay with you," I said softly.

"You are welcome, Mademoiselle," she said. Then she paused, looking at me. "May I…may I ask you a question?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Do you…have you seen this Erik? Have you seen behind the mask he wears? Please, Miss, I mean no offence," she said quickly.

My first instinct was to become angry, but I saw the concern in her eyes and sighed. This was a question which I would need to get used to answering.

"Yes, Madame, I have," I said, looking into her eyes.

Her grey eyes betrayed her surprise. "You have, Miss?"

"Yes. Quite some time ago," I said simply.

"I-I have never seen him, but my husband has told me…" she paused and glanced down.

"I love him," I said softly. "He is the most caring, loving man I have ever met. That is what is important to me."

Madame Emond looked up at me. I looked back evenly, my head high.

"Well, then I am truly happy for you," she said. She stood up. "Do you have need of anything else?"

"No, thank you," I said. And with that Muriel nodded her head and left, shutting the door behind her.

So Charles had seen Erik without the mask. I had wondered. And he had told his wife. I thought of Erik and how hard it must have been for him all these years. To be feared and hated because of how you look, I could not imagine how he must have felt. I remembered my initial horror when I had removed his mask, and the look of disgust on Raoul's face when he first saw Erik's unmasked face. And of course, I remembered Erik's words to me the night he had proposed. _We will never be free of my face, _he had said. I was only just beginning to realise what he meant. But far from making me want to leave, it only deepened my love and admiration of him.

I sank onto the bed and a wave of loneliness washed over me. How I missed my Erik. I was quite tired, so I changed into my night dress and slid into the bed. The room was cold and bare, quite different from elegant and cosy room beneath the Opera House. I sighed and blew out the candle on the nightstand, wishing that it was Saturday.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I awoke slowly, to a sensation that I had not felt in decades. The feel of early morning sunshine on my face which was unmasked. I had forgotten to draw the curtains the night before.

Quickly I got up and walked to the door, which led to a small balcony. It was quite early and, as I peered through the window I saw that the streets below the hotel were empty.

Heart pounding, I opened the door and stepped onto the balcony. It was cold and I could see my breath in the early morning air. I felt the feeble warmth of the sun on my face and smiled, feeling an incredible sense of unreality.

Not wanting anyone to see me, I went back into the room and shut the door, but left the curtains open, allowing the weak winter light to pour into the room.

How long had it been since I had been aboveground in the daytime? I could not even remember the last time. The day at the graveyard in Perros had been in the early evening, as the sun set. This was morning, a time of day that I had not seen outside in years. I could be quite happy in the light, I thought, with my Christine at my side.

Thinking of her brought a sharp pain in my chest. How I missed her already and it had not even been a day! But she had been my entire world for so long. I knew she was quite safe with Charles and his wife, but still I missed her so.

The next days went by slowly. Without Christine and without my music I was like a caged tiger, pacing the room in boredom and frustration.

From my room I watched the bustling marketplace on the street below the hotel. I watched as people hurried from place to place. Every night I donned my cloak, mask and hat and walked the empty streets, growing more and more nervous with every passing day.

Saturday finally arrived, a crisp sunny morning that promised to be a beautiful day. Charles had sent word that a carriage would arrive at the hotel to pick me up at eleven thirty to take me to the chapel.

I dressed carefully in my best tuxedo, the crisp white dress shirt a bold contrast to the black of the vest and coat. My hands shook as I put the mask on. I stood before the tall mirror as I slipped on my best black cloak and hat.

The carriage would arrive any moment, so I gathered up my belongings and walked down to the street, trying to calm my racing heart. It was all I could do to force myself out of the building and into the street in broad daylight. People glanced my way. Fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm me, I kept my head down. But no one paid me more than a moments notice, too caught up in their own lives and destinations to worry about me.

A black carriage pulled to a stop before me and the driver helped me with my bags.

I stepped into the carriage, nervousness and excitement battling within me as the carriage lurched forward, heading to the chapel.


	29. What Might Have Been

I awoke slowly, glancing around for a moment before I realised where I was. I was not in the large four-poster bed in my room in Erik's home beneath the Opera House. Nor was I in my room in my flat. I was in Monsieur and Madame Emond's home, waiting for my wedding day.

I got up and got ready for the day. A glance at the small clock on the dressing table told me it was nearly noon. It had been so late when I got to bed I was not surprised that I had slept away the morning.

I went downstairs and found Madame Emond in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches.

"Good morning, Madame," I said as I walked into the room.

"Oh, good morning Mademoiselle," she replied, turning to smile at me. "Please, sit down. There is tea," she motioned towards the pot. "Would you like a sandwich?"

"Yes, thank you," I said, sitting at the table.

Madame Emond bustled around, pouring tea and setting a tray of sandwiches on the table. She sat with me. "Charles will be back soon. He would like to take you to the dressmaker's for a fitting."

"Oh!" I said, glancing up.

Madame Emond smiled. "You are excited, _non_?"

"Oh, yes, I am," I said, feeling an excited fluttering in my stomach.

We talked comfortably, she told me about her children and I told her about my father. We avoided the subject of Erik, and she did not ask me how we had met. I wondered how much she knew of Erik and the Phantom of the Opera.

Charles arrived an hour or so later and took me directly to the dressmaker's. The dressmaker was a tiny little woman by the name of Gabrielle Laroche.

"I am so happy to finally meet you," she said, squeezing my hands. "Such beautiful dresses he has ordered for you."

I looked at her inquisitively as she directed me into a curtained room. "You made all of the dresses?" I asked.

"Of course, Mademoiselle. I was sorry to hear that the other wedding dress was ruined, but I think that this dress is _magnifique_!" She disappeared and came back a moment later with a bundle of white satin and lace. She helped me into it and then stepped back.

"You are beautiful," she stated and led me to a full length mirror. "The dress, it is perfect on you."

I stared at my reflection. This dress was every bit as beautiful as the first one. It had a longer train and elaborate embroidery on the corset-style bodice and along the bottom edge of the dress. Tiny pearls were sewn into the embroidery. It was long sleeved, the wrists coming to a point on the top of my hands.

The fit was perfect. It had a high neck and the shoulders puffed slightly. It was exquisite.

"With your dark hair and porcelain skin you look just like an angel in that dress," Madame Laroche said, smiling broadly. "It will be done in time for your wedding on Saturday, Mademoiselle. I have only to put the finishing touches."

I nodded, staring at my reflection. For the first time when I looked at my reflection I saw a woman, not a timid, wilting flower of a girl. My eyes no longer held the childish innocence that they once had, but life had shaped me into the woman that I now was; the woman that would become Erik's wife.

The dressmaker fussed over the dress for some time before she helped me back out of it and I slipped into the violet dress, one that had come from the wardrobe below the Opera House. She looked critically at the dress. "This one suits you," she said finally. "I had often wondered who was wearing the dresses that Monsieur Emond ordered for his employer. I have never met him, of course, being an invalid as he is. He is quite particular about his clothing, but he has always paid me far more than I charged him. He has helped my business immensely. Congratulations, my dear. You are marrying a generous man."

I smiled, thinking of how Erik demanded perfection. This woman was obviously very good at what she did, or Erik would never have continued to make his purchases from her!

Charles drove me back to his house in silence. When we arrived I met their children, little Etienne and Francois. I played games with them, anything to keep myself busy. The time seemed to drag without Erik. I wondered how he was doing and wished I could see him. Only a day and a half, I told myself. I could wait that long. Nothing was going to happen.

X

The next day dawned, cloudy and cold. I peered out the window, wondering if it would snow the next day for my wedding.

I took my time getting up and dressed. I had the most unusual feeling of foreboding, as if something was about to happen. I tried to dismiss my anxiety, blaming it upon my wedding the next day.

The day passed slowly while my nervousness grew. To try to distract myself I went into the parlour to play the piano and practise my singing. My piano playing skills were meagre at best and I acutely missed Erik's magnificent playing as I fumbled through a few songs.

I was singing a piece from _Faust_ when I was startled by a timid knocking on the parlour door. I turned around and Madame Emond walked in. "Mademoiselle, there is a gentleman here to see you. Shall I bring him in here?"

My heart leapt, thinking surely it must be Erik! Who else knew I was here? "Certainly, Madame," I said, smiling. "Thank you."

She disappeared and a moment later the door opened again and in walked Raoul, looking decidedly nervous. He looked little like the elegant Vicomte de Chagney. His hair was mussed, his clothes rumpled. There were dark circles under his eyes and he appeared to have not shaved for some time.

"Raoul!" I gasped, feeling all of the colour drain from my face. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"Christine, please, hear me out," he pleaded. He walked slowly towards me with his hands outstretched, cautiously, as if I were dangerous.

"You should not be here, please leave," I said, feeling my hands shake.

He crossed the room and took my hands in his. "Oh, Christine. I have been looking for you for so long."

"How did you find me?" I asked again, pulling free from his grip.

"I hired a private investigator," Raoul said. "He has been looking for you since you left me. I was so sorry that I lost my temper with you, Christine. You have been through so much and I was not patient. Please, forgive me."

My heart was pounding rapidly. "There is nothing to forgive, Raoul," I said. "It is over and done with. I am marrying Erik tomorrow."

A flash of pain crossed his tired features. "No," he whispered. "Please, no."

"I am sorry, Raoul, that you wasted your time and money to find me."

"But I was so certain that you were in danger, that he was holding you prisoner…" his voice trailed off and he looked lost, bewildered.

I looked sadly at Raoul, my old childhood friend, who could not bear to lose. It was quite obviously destroying him to know that he had lost me.

"You cannot marry that monster, Christine. He will destroy you!" Raoul said, his eyes flashing.

"Please, Raoul. Please do not make this any harder than it has to be. I love him," I said. "I am not doing anything against my will."

"You cannot mean it. You cannot!" he protested, moving towards me.

I backed up. "Please, Raoul. Just go, forget me."

He laughed. "I will never forget you, Christine. I want to marry you."

I swallowed. "Please, just leave. I love Erik, nothing you say will change my mind."

"He is a murderer, Christine. How can you forgive that? How can you condone it?"

"I do not condone it, Raoul. It is in the past. Have we not all done things that we regret?" I asked softly.

Raoul laughed again, sharply. "Yes, Christine. I regret ever bringing you back to Paris. I regret delivering you right into the waiting arms of your Angel of Death."

I sighed. "Raoul, you have been my friend for many years, and I wish you nothing but good will. I will always care about you, but I will not change my mind. I will not marry you. Please, just go."

I watched in silence as Raoul's hopes were dashed. He looked at me, shattered. "I will never stop loving you, Christine. Never forget that. I will always love you."

"Please," I whispered, fighting tears. "Please go."

"Goodbye, Christine," he said and I darted past him and ran upstairs to my room. I shut and locked the door behind me and collapsed on the bed, crying.

X

I awoke a few hours later feeling strangely refreshed. My head hurt from crying but I felt light, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I thought about it and realised that I had not felt as if I had truly put Raoul out of my mind until now. I had loved him once but I knew now, without a doubt, that I did not love him anymore, and that I loved Erik with all of my heart. I truly did forgive him for his past, and looked now only toward the future.

I knew that had I not met Erik that I could have married Raoul and been happy. The Christine that I had been before meeting Erik would have been happy to settle for the love that I had had with Raoul. Simple and gentle, our marriage would have been one of companionship, not passion. How glad I was that I had been visited by my Angel of Music. And how glad I was that I had not let my childish fears ruin what Erik and I had. No doubt I would always think fondly of Raoul, in the way of nostalgia, but I knew without a doubt that I would never again wonder about what might have been. The past truly was the past and I felt as if my marriage to Erik was the beginning of a new life together.

I joined the Emond's for dinner. They said nothing of Raoul's visit. I felt Madame Emond's questioning upon me but I did not wish to discuss the situation with her, so I remained quiet.

Charles told me that Madame Laroche had sent word that the dress was ready and would be delivered to the chapel in time for the ceremony the next day.

My stomach fluttered nervously and I could barely eat. I retired to my room early to try to sleep, but was unable to. I stayed awake far into the night, looking out the window. When I finally fell asleep it was quite late and I slept soundly.

I awoke bright and early the next morning. I packed my few belongings and went downstairs where Charles and his wife were sitting at the kitchen table. We ate a quick breakfast and then the carriage that Charles had called for was waiting for us. We got in and drove to the chapel.

My heart was racing and I had to hold my hands tightly clasped in my lap to prevent them from shaking. When we arrived at the church Madame Emond and I were led to a dressing room while Charles went to find Erik.

An hour later I was dressed and Madame Emond was fixing my hair. There was a veil which consisted of a band of white flowers with gauzy veil attached. Madame Emond fastened it into my hair and arranged my curls carefully. "You look beautiful," she said as she stepped back. She led me to the mirror and I gazed at my reflection. I was barely able to believe that it was really happening, that I was going to marry my Angel of Music.

Excitement coursed through me when Madame Emond handed me a bouquet of white roses and daisies. "It is time, Mademoiselle."


	30. From the Ashes

I stood at the front of the chapel wearing my best black tuxedo with a crisp white dress shirt. I had a single white rose tucked into the lapel of my jacket, and I was wearing my best white silk mask. Though I knew I did not need to wear the mask for my Christine, I was infinitely more comfortable with my face covered, especially around so many people that I did not know.

The priest stood before me and I was amazed at how everyone was treating me. No one said a word to me about the mask, they seemed quite accepting. I wondered idly what Charles had told them.

Then the organist began to play and the doors at the end of the chapel were opened.

Christine stood framed in the doorway, looking just like an angel in the flowing white wedding gown. She had the veil across her face so I could not see her expression, but she walked forward confidently, with her head held high. Charles stepped forward to take her arm and he walked her down the aisle. When they reached the front of the aisle he leaned forward and said something to her before she stepped forward and stood by my side. I lifted the veil gently.

Christine was beautiful. Her smile was radiant, her brilliant green eyes sparkling. I smiled back at her as we turned to face the priest.

The ceremony was simple yet beautiful. The priest spoke of our love for each other and the strength that we would need to face the future together.

When he turned to me and said, "Do you, Erik de Nuit, take this woman, Christine Marie Daae to be your wife?" I felt Christine's startled glance.

The business of my surname had never come up with Christine, amazingly enough. I had given much thought to the matter and decided that I had no desire to give Christine my given surname. The name held nothing but pain and bad memories for me and I had long since given up using it. After much thought I had decided to give myself a new surname, something that signified my life; both my past and my new life with Christine.

De Nuit. Of night. What name better represented me, represented all that I was? I would always be of the night.

I smiled warmly at Christine. I would explain everything to her later.

The priest gave us his blessing for a beautiful life together and then proclaimed us man and wife. Monsieur and Madame Erik de Nuit.

"You may now kiss the bride," he said and I grinned like a child as I took her in my arms and kissed her.

I felt our souls become one as we kissed and it seemed in that moment that there was nothing between us. No mask, no prejudice. There was only Christine, her hand on my cheek as we kissed. I could feel the rapid beating of her heart as the kiss went on.

When we pulled apart we were both grinning.

We walked hand in hand down the aisle. I felt a giddiness that I could honestly say I had never felt in my life. I kept looking down at our entwined fingers and at the plain gold band on my left hand. I would never have thought it possible that I would find a woman who would accept me and the fact that Christine Daae was my wife seemed nothing short of a miracle.

A white carriage drawn by two fine white horses stood on the street outside the chapel. We climbed into the carriage while Charles and his wife waved at us from the steps of the church.

The carriage lurched forward, taking us to the small country inn where we would be spending our wedding night. My fears and uncertainties were creeping up, threatening to choke me, but then I looked at Christine and felt my fears disappear. Christine sat opposite me in the small carriage. She reached over and carefully removed the white silk mask.

"There," she said. "Now I can properly see my husband." She smiled broadly, her eyes warm as she gazed at me.

I chuckled awkwardly and looked down.

Immediately Christine sensed my insecurity and took my hands into hers.

"Erik," she said softly, and moved to sit next to me.

I looked up at her and knew she could see the naked vulnerability in my eyes. "I love you, Erik. I am so happy to be your wife. Madame Erik de Nuit." She paused then. "Erik, that is not your surname, is it?"

"It is not," I said. "I have no desire to honour my parents by giving you their last name."

She nodded. "De Nuit. It suits you," she said. "I like it. Christine de Nuit."

I smiled at her and squeezed her hands. "I am so happy, Christine. I have never known such happiness."

"And I am happy, too, Erik. So very happy," she said and she leaned across the carriage and kissed me, boldly, on the lips.

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to me, kissing her softly, deeply, my hands in her soft hair. She returned my kiss eagerly and when we parted her eyes were fiery with desire. My heart was racing in my chest.

I looked down at her, relishing the feel of her soft body against mine, marvelling in the reality that she was my wife.

Our relationship had put us through the fire, but we had both emerged, triumphant, like a phoenix from the ashes. Life with Christine would no doubt be full of surprises, full of excitement, but I knew that we would be happy, so happy, together.

Always, one love, one lifetime.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I followed Madame Emond downstairs. She deposited me in front of a set of double doors and left. I stood there until I heard the faint sound of the organ. Two attendants opened the doors and I stood at the end of a long aisle, surrounded on both sides by pews, mostly empty.

I did not focus on that, though. Instead I looked directly at the end of the aisle, where Erik stood, clearly nervous. He was dressed impeccably in a black tuxedo, his white mask catching the light that poured through a large stained glass window above the dais where the priest stood in his white and gold robes.

Suddenly Charles was next to me, holding out his arm. I looped my arm through his, clutching the bouquet tightly, my eyes never leaving Erik's face.

As his eyes caught mine he smiled.

When we reached the end of the aisle Charles took my hand and placed it in Erik's. Erik's hand was cold, but his blue eyes behind the mask glowed with warmth and happiness, an emotion that I had seen so rarely on his face. I could not help but wish that it was my father who had walked me down the aisle. I still missed him, but it was no longer the cold, empty ache that it had been. Instead I was filled with love for my father who had given me so much. I knew he would be happy that I was getting married, that he would be glad that I was happy.

The ceremony was simple, but lovely. I barely heard a word of it, though, my excitement made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate.

I was surprised to hear the priest use Erik's surname. For whatever reason I had never thought to ask his surname, he had always just been Erik.

De Nuit, I thought. Ofnight. I was certain that the name was not his given name, but a name he had chosen. It suited him, I thought, and I was happy to take the name as my own.

When the ceremony ended we were pronounced man and wife and we kissed. The kiss was urgent, passionate and infinitely gentle.

And with that kiss I felt as if my life were complete. I was Madame Erik de Nuit. The thought thrilled me and as we parted I grinned at him, feeling a heady rush of excitement.

We hurried to the waiting carriage, which was beautiful and white, pulled by two magnificent white horses. We waved to Charles and his wife and settled back in our seats, basking in the warmth and excitement of our wedding.

I looked at my left hand, at the glittering diamond and plain gold band that signified my union to Erik. I thought of the circle that made up the wedding band and what it signified.

Something with no beginning and no end. Something that went on for eternity.

Somehow I felt as if I had always loved Erik, had always known I was meant to love him, from the moment we met. Our destinies were entwined and we had seen that destiny through today as we were wed.

I looked over at Erik and smiled. Eternity. A love that would not die.

We were together, all was as it should be. I could almost see our lives together as we lived and loved and grew old together, forever.

One love, one lifetime.


	31. Epilogue

"Mama, mama!"

I turned from where I stood at the kitchen table, kneading bread, to see my daughter, Elizabeth, running towards me.

"What is it, Bethie?" I asked with a laugh.

"Will you and Papa please sing me a song? Please?" Beth pleaded, staring up at me with her vivid blue eyes, so much like her fathers'. Her hair was as dark as my own, and curled wildy around her delicate face.

"I am baking, can it not wait until later?"

"Oh, please Mama! I promise I will be good and not tease Stephan anymore."

Six years old and the child could charm the flowers into bloom. Stephan, named after my father, was four years old and as handsome a child as you had ever seen. He was sitting on the floor playing quietly with his toys. He had emerald green eyes, like my own, and the silky light brown hair of his father. Where Beth was loud, cheerful and always craving attention, Stephan was quiet, loving, and somewhat shy.

I laughed again. "Where is your Papa?" I asked.

"He is already at the organ. Please sing, please?"

I smiled down at Beth who was smiling up at me, her eyes wide. "Oh, Bethie you scamp!" I said, ruffling her hair. "Of course I will sing for you."

I picked up little Stephan and followed Beth into the parlour where Erik was sitting at the organ. He turned as I walked into the room, smiling at me.

He hardly ever wore the mask anymore, only when we went into town. The years had changed him, given him a calm and serenity that he had never had before. He was happy, but given to periods of melancholy. I always just let him have his space when it happened, when he was drawn into the past. I did not expect him to forget all that had happened before we wed. It was part of him, and therefore part of me.

We had been married two years when we had been blessed with Elizabeth Christine. Erik had fallen in love with his little girl the moment he saw her and it was easy to see that she had her Papa wrapped around her little finger. Two years later we had Erik Stephan. There were complications and he was a sickly child. He had almost not lived, but he had pulled through, though I was unable to have more children.

Our family was small, but loving. The children loved their father dearly. He had been so worried, had so many insecurities, but he was a loving, doting father, just as he was a loving, doting husband.

The children thought nothing of his disfigurement, having been raised seeing his face. I had not allowed him to wear the mask around them, though he had wanted to at first.

Marriage and family had caused Erik to flourish. He began working again, designing houses and overseeing a construction company, which was run by Charles. It was profitable and we lived comfortably.

I had never gone back to the stage, which suited me. I was content, happy, to be a wife and mother. The legend of a Phantom that haunted the Paris Opera House faded and was soon a thing of legend and mystery.

Erik still wrote music and we still sang together. Little Beth loved music and her dearest wish was to perform on the stage when she grew up. She had a marvelous tutor and I had no doubt she would go far. Stephan, on the other hand, was already following in his father's footsteps in construction. He built elaborate houses of blocks and was already drawing sketches for buildings.

Life was good, and we were happy together. We had truly been blessed.

"Mama, come on!" Beth said, tugging on my skirt and bringing me out of my reverie.

I smiled at her as I went to stand by Erik. I leaned down and we kissed briefly.

"So, what shall we sing, my love?" Erik asked.

"How about _The Phantom of the Opera_?" I said with a smile, referring to a song we had sung together long ago.

Erik laughed and began playing. We sang, our voices still perfectly matched after all these years.

Beth and Stephan sat on the couch listening, enraptured. As I sang I looked around at my little family, at my husband and thought of how far he had come, from Angel to the Phantom to Erik de Nuit.

It had been a long journey, but one that had been well worth it. We had had many happy years together and many more yet to come. I looked over at my husband and saw the warm glow of love in his eyes.

Although I had thought I had stopped believing in fairy tales long ago, our love had a storybook ending……

Happily ever after.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Papa. I thought I would never tire of hearing that word from the mouths of my children.

My children!

When Christine and I had been married I had thought little of starting a family, of being a father. It seemed enough of a miracle that I was being married at all, anything beyond that was incomprehensible!

Married life was wonderful. It had taken a relationship that was already wonderful and made it absolutely amazing.

Marriage and Christine's gentle presence calmed me. The anger that had been a part of my life since I could remember had disappeared with time and Christine's love.

I was still prone to times of darkness, times where I was drawn into the past and the pain that was there. Christine understood this and simply let me be, holding me and comforting me until it passed.

How I loved her! I had thought I could not possible love her more, but as the years passed I found that I loved her more deeply with every year that passed.

When Christine told me that we were to have a child I did not know what to think. I was at once ecstatic and terrified. I worried that the child could not love me, not looking as I did.

But when Elizabeth Christine was born I fell in love. She was a beautiful, perfect child and my fears that I would pass the curse of my face to my child were put to rest. As she grew she loved and accepted me. She was my little girl, my little angel.

Then came Erik Stephan. There were complications when he was born and Christine almost died. The memory still haunts me. Christine, the blood, the midwife trying frantically to save both mother and child.

I had prayed that night like I had never prayed before. I did not know what kind of God would listen to my prayers, but for Christine I prayed that she would be spared. She was, though she would have no more children Erik Stephan, whom Christine named after the 'two most important men in her life' was a sweet child. He had Christine's gentle nature and bright green eyes and looked more like her.

Little Beth, on the other hand, looked nothing like Christine, except for her long dark curls. She had my eyes, bright blue and framed by dark lashes. She was beautiful.

Life had treated us well. I started a construction company with Charles and it flourished. I was able to put my architecture skills back to use as I designed homes and buildings. I missed the work, the building, but it was impossible, so I oversaw things through Charles, visiting building sites and night and letting Charles instruct the workers.

Music was still an important part of my life. I still wrote scores, still played the organ and sang. Christine and I often sang together and our children grew up loving Opera. Little Beth would no doubt grow up to be a Prima Donna, her voice was magnificent!

Life was good and there were many times I wondered if it was all a dream, if my mind had finally snapped and I was living in a world of my own making.

But then Christine would wrap her arms around me and I would feel her soft body against mine and I would realise that it was not a dream.

I had never dreamed the first time I saw that shy little girl on the stage at the Paris Opera House that things would have turned out the way they did, that she could ever learn to see the man behind the mask. But she had. And I was happy, infinitely happy, at the course my life had taken.

_~Fin~_

_Thank you for reading my story, _Angel of Music. _Please review, thank you!_

_Also, in case you are interested, there is a sequel to this story, titled_ Learn to Be Lonely,_ which is the story of Erik and Christine's daughter, Beth. It is told from many different POV's, including Erik and Christine as well as Beth's. It is the story of what happens when the Phantom of the Opera's daughter goes to the Paris Opera House to sing._


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